


They Sing Like Songbirds. At Five In The Goddamn Morning When I'm Trying To Sleep.

by Qu0t13



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Biting, Broken Bones, Brother/Brother/Brother Incest, Callista Curnow Is A Good Bro, Cecelia Is A Good Bro, Come Marking, Come Shot, Conversations, Custis and Morgan Have Been Camping in A Brothel For Months, Depression, Emotional Constipation, Esma Boyle Is Not A Bitch, Facials, Forehead Kisses, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Grieving, Hand Jobs, Havelock is a Dick, House Of Pleasure Mission, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Incest, Intimacy, Just Not As Close, Just Wallace, Lady Boyle's Last Party, Lydia Boyle Is Not A Bitch, Lydia Brooklaine Is A Good Bro, M/M, Montgomery Is A Dick, Morgan and Custis Aren't Taking This Serriously, Morgan and Custis are 44, Multi, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Physical Abuse, Physical Disability, Piero Is Smart, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, SO SAD, Sad Fuck, Scars, Serriously WHY?, Sibling Incest, So is Martin, They Still Are Friends, Treavor Doesn't Have Friends, Treavor Doesn't Want Dead Brothers, Treavor Is Bad At Feelings, Treavor Needs Friends, Treavor Now Has Friends, Treavor Wants His Brothers to Come Home, Treavor is 40, Treavor is Sad, Treavor is a Worried Bean, Wallace Is A Good Bro, Waverly & Treavor Were Friends, Waverly Is Not A Bitch, Waverly Tries Her Best, We Stan With Wallace, Yea They Still Fuck, but not as much, but not really, hand holding, lip biting, sad cuddles, twist ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-07-20 05:17:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qu0t13/pseuds/Qu0t13
Summary: Post Low-Chaos: Treavor manages to drag his brothers, beaten, tongueless, not quite broken but certainly not alright, from the mines.They re-learn one another as best they can.





	1. Dead Birds

**Author's Note:**

> First few chapters are just Treavor suffering.
> 
> Also formatting is shit on this, my bad.

“I meant it…” Treavor mumbled as he slowly attempted to draw himself from his snug position atop his brother’s chest, groaning as the sets of arms, splayed across his lower back, wrapped around his waist, looped around his shoulders, pressed beneath his stomach, tightened around him as his brothers attempted to draw him back down between them.

It was still early, not insanely so, but Treavor was already out of time.

“This again Treavor?” Custis sighed from spot beneath the younger brother as his fingers ran through Treavor’s hair, tilting Treavor’s head slightly forward to allow him to press a gentle kiss to Treavor’s forehead, drawing a pleased little sigh from the younger brother as he tried to draw Treavor’s head back to its previous resting place, just at his shoulder.

“We told you that we have business dealings we can’t ignore for now.”

That was a lie. Treavor knew damn well it was a lie, but he wouldn’t call his brothers out until they were safely out of Dunwall.

“Quite.” Morgan quipped as he tugged the arm he had slipped around his younger brother’s waist, pulling Treavor towards him abruptly, rolling Treavor his side, cozy against Morgan’s chest.

Treavor huffed as he felt Morgan curl around his backside, not pleasantly mind you, it was an irate sound, nervous, riddled with anxiety.

They were wasting time; time which Treavor had been given sparingly. Time which Treavor had foolishly squandered between his brothers the previous evening.

“I’m worried you’re becoming paranoid Treavor.” Morgan mused as his lips brushed the back of his brother’s ears.

Treavor had every right to be paranoid. He wasn’t sure how long he had before Samuel and Corvo showed up, minutes or hours.

“And I’m worried about whatever damn business dealings have required you two too spend the last few months in a brothel.” Treavor snapped back as he made some attempt to draw himself from Morgan.

Truly a fool’s errand.

Morgan merely hummed as his arms snaked around Treavor’s midsection, taking hold of his brother’s wrist as he pulled Treavor back down against him, crossing the younger man’s arms across his chest in a secure hold.

“Would you stop?” Treavor quipped as Morgan began to pepper little touches of lip against the back of Treavor’s neck, “I was serious when I said want you two home-” His trail of thought was silenced as Morgan rolled his stiffened prick against the softness of his younger brother.

“Morgan!” Treavor hissed quietly as he pathetically tried to arch away from the heated cock, the walls of the Golden Cat were so very thin, “Stop distracting me, I’m serious, stop!”

“We’re not distracting you Treavor.” Custis tutted slyly as he settled before the younger brother, trailing his thumb across Treavor’s cheek as he mused a cooed, “Please, by all means keep trying to convince us to abandon our business endeavours and come home, we’re listening.”

There were several reasons why they should be home, why they never should have left in the first place. Most however revolved around the fact that they had so foolishly painted themselves as targets.

And of course, there was the fact that they had maybe mere hours to live.

Treavor’s retort was halted dead as a lurid whimper passed his lips, his eyes rolled, his back arched and Morgan sighed contently behind him as he pressed into his brother, still warm and slick from the previous evening.

Treavor huffed something pitiable as he looped a leg over Morgan’s thigh, easing his brother’s access as Morgan rocked into him slowly, gently. Lazy morning sex wasn’t exactly rare, his brothers knew he loved being pampered and god did they like to indulge him…

But Treavor knew exactly what his brothers were planning and damn it did they not have time for it.

“It was so nice of you to visit us.” Custis continued softly as he watched irritation and anger, (Fearfearfearfearfear.) Compete with desire and want as Morgan continued to gently roll against their brother.

“We were beginning to worry you had forgotten us.” Custis murmured pedantically, “It’s been so long since your last visit…”

Treavor huffed, “Wouldn’t be missing me i-if you came home.” A whimper escaped Treavor’s throat as Morgan rolled against him just so perfectly, “F-fuck, stop!” Treavor snapped as, despite himself, he pressed back against Morgan.

They didn’t have time for this.

Tears, hot and angry, began to roll down Treavor’s cheeks.

They needed to leave, there wasn’t time for this.

Custis leaned close and tenderly took Treavor’s face between his hands.

Treavor desperately wanted to lose himself to his brothers again… Perhaps pretend there was nothing wrong, forget that his brothers were holding the young Empress hostage in a brothel, shove aside the fact that Corvo and Samuel were to arrive at the docks…

Forget that his brothers would be dead by dusk if he couldn’t convince them to leave the goddamn Golden Cat.

But there wasn’t time, there wasn’t time and his brothers weren’t listening and Treavor could not afford to waste any more time.

Treavor snagged Custis’ lower lip between his teeth and bit. Hard.

Too hard.

Custis grunted in surprise as he pulled back, blood already welling from the split on his lip as he pulled away, Treavor watched with muted horror as his brother slowly ran his tongue over the wound, failing to catch a dribble of blood as it ran down his chin.

Custis stared at the younger brother and Treavor knew the look well.

“I-I didn’t-”

“That wasn’t very kind of you. Treavor.” Custis said, not quite in a snarl, but certainly in warning as his hand came to grip Treavor’s jaw, Custis forced his fingers and thumb against Treavor’s teeth through his cheeks, a whine escaped Treavor as he was forced to part his tines.

Custis’s tongue dipped passed Treavor’s lips to press and slide against brother’s tongue and teeth as blood and drool mingled and trailed from the younger brother’s lips, staining his chin red.

There wasn’t time for this.

Custis devoured each and every little sound of pleasure which crawled from Treavor’s throat as Morgan’s gentle pace abraded, responding to Custis’ own roughened treatment of the body between them.

And despite himself, Treavor found himself eagerly pressing back against his brothers as best he could, rolling back against Morgan’s cock, greeting Custis’ tongue with his own.

Treavor was constrained between his brothers, trapped in a haze of bliss. There was no time for such sinful pleasantries, Treavor wanted to stay regardless, gods did he want to.

Treavor wanted to apologise to Custis for biting him so hard, he hadn’t meant too, he just needed his brothers to listen and come home. He didn’t want to be so difficult, but he couldn’t stay, they couldn’t stay.

No matter how nice it would have been to stay between his brothers, safe and warm… Put the world on hold…

But it wasn’t safe, the world couldn’t be put on hold and his brothers weren’t listening. Treavor needed to get his brothers out and away from the Golden Cat before he met with Samuel by the shore, and long before Corvo arrived.

Treavor whined and pressed firmly against Custis’ lips as Morgan groaned behind him, the cock inside him twitched as heat swelled within Treavor, luxurious sin, the younger brother sobbed breathlessly as he slumped against the bed.

There wasn’t time…

Custis cautiously released his hold on Treavor’s jaw, moving his hand down to his brother’s throat just in case Treavor was holding his teeth in check.

Treavor pressed against the palm to gently take his brothers split lip into his mouth to gingerly suckle at the wound, Custis sighed through his nose before drawing Treavor into a proper kiss.

“’M sorry.” Treavor murmured softly against his brother as more tears began to slide down his face, still warm, smearing between his and Custis’ cheeks as another whine escaped his lips.

Morgan slowly slipped from Treavor, offering the younger brother a gentle kiss to the back of his ear before he disappeared, allowing Custis to roll him onto his back and settle over him.

“Will you be good for us now?” Custis purred softly as he gently pressed inside the younger brother, leaving Treavor with hardly a moment to recover, drawing fresh tears to Treavor’s eyes, “W-will you listen?” Treavor mumbled as he arched his back.

Custis was comfort and warmth, both inside and out, and Treavor choked on a sob as he pondered whether or not he’d ever be able to see his brothers again.

Corvo had given him a single night to get his brothers out of Dunwall without the young Empress.

Their meeting consisted of Treavor more or less telling his brothers that he was sick of their absence in the homestead, he was firstly concerned with getting his brothers out if the Golden Cat and away from imminent danger.

Leaving Dunwall would come later.

As it came to light, hardly a day ago, the supposed business his brothers were attending involved safekeeping the young missing empress.

At first, Treavor was furious, he had half a mind to march down to the Golden Cat to drag his brothers out by their tongues. Havelock and Martin fortunately talked him down… Before they began discussing the plot…

That anger gave way to fear, unbridled, fear.

“They’re my brothers!” Treavor hissed to the dishonored admiral, “They are the enemy.” Havelock corrected tersely, “Those two are single handily blockading each and every proposition we pose to the council. With them out of the way, that prowess would fall to us.”

“They are my brothers.” Treavor repeated coolly, “And they have chosen their side.” Havelock snarled in return, setting his pistol, loaded, onto the table between them.

“This may be hard for you to understand Lord Pendleton.” The name was spat like chewing tobacco, “But in life, there are always sacrifices.”

Treavor grit his teeth and seethed a heated breath.

The back of his eyes burned as wetness gathered at his cheeks.

“I have a right to be upset about this.” He seethed, Havelock merely huffed, “Maybe, but you also have a duty Pendleton.”

Treavor scoffed, “A duty Havelock!” He snarled, “I am supporting this cause as best I can, but if you dare think that I would simply choose to favor your many band of murderers over my brothers than I need not look further as to why you were discarded from your precious navy.”

The pistol was cocked, still on the table, but cocked.

“That was beginning to sound like treason Pendleton.” Havelock hissed, “Please.” Treavor mocked, “You’d have to have a fraction of honor for there to be anything worth betraying.”

“Then I guess were lucky you’re about as threatening as a bird with a broken wing.” Havelock spat before he turned to the looming figure of Corvo.

“Whenever you’re ready Corvo.” Havelock grit out as he snatched up his pistol before stalking from the room, Treavor watched him leave, waiting until he was sure the admiral was out of shot before his breath began to stutter.

Whenever Corvo was ready could mean a day or an hour.

The sun hung hardly past mid afternoon.

“Give me tonight.” Treavor asked quickly, his tone pleading, pathetic, as he turned back to the Lord Protector.

“If I can convince my brother to leave Dunwall by dawn, drop their campaign and leave, would you consider sparing them?”

Corvo paused, silent and still as he watched Treavor’s expression.

A single tear escaped the nobleman’s eye and the Lord Protector raised a single hand, baring one finger.

Treavor heaved a hideous sob and nodded before turning on his heel.

“You’re an idiot.” Martin hissed as he fell in pace with the young lord, “Do you honestly believe that those brothers of yours will just drop their campaign? That they’ll just roll over because you ask them nicely?”

Treavor sighed a heavy breath as he stepped through the door, “Not in the slightest.” He muttered, “Well than what do you intend to do?” Martin snarked, “Sell us out to save your brothers?”

“I am not such a coward.” Treavor snarled as he turned to face the Overseer, “Tell me Martin, have you ever a family?”

Martin’s face pinched as he bit his tongue behind his lips.

“Morgan and Custis may be vile and cruel, but they are my family, my brothers… And they are all I have left.” Treavor took a step back, “I need to at least try to be a decent brother, even if they never were.”

Treavor turned coat, “You’re welcome to tell Corvo that if I do not meet him by the Golden Cat docks come dawn, he is welcome to kill me along with my brothers.” He called hoarsely.

If Martin had a retort, he either kept it to himself or Treavor failed to hear it as he turned tail and ran for the small dock Samuel had made himself home at.

His brothers were thrilled to see him, offering him sweet words and gentle touches as they spoke, it had been some months since his brothers announced, rather abruptly, that they were heading to the Golden Cat... And then three days before Treavor thought to seek them out.

When the youngest brother had first gone to confront their absence, he was naturally displeased to find his brothers more or less squatting in the brothel, his demands for a reason went ignored and come morning Treavor had no choice but to leave his brothers to their supposed business.

Some time during the previous evening however, Treavor made some snide remark about being surprised his brothers were even able to miss him if the Golden Cat whores were at their beck and call.

Of course, his little jab offered his brothers the perfect excuse to show Treavor exactly how much they missed him, his protests be damned as they somehow turned the discussion on its head which ended with Treavor falling asleep between his brothers, satiated, warm, full and well fucked.

Gentle lips ghosted over Treavor’s cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” Custis asked softly, his voice small with concern as he looked his younger brother over, besides the typical bites and bruises places lovingly across his torso, Custis couldn’t see anything to bring such emotion to Treavor’s eyes.

That meant there was a problem.

“What is it?”

Treavor hiccupped a shuddered breath as he turned his head to the side, away from his brother.

“We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.” Custis murmured softly as the gentle rolling if his hips came to pause, Treavor growled a weak little groan at the back of his throat.

“Y-You’re not listening...” Treavor snapped as he closed his eyes, refusing to even look at his brother.

“Treavor…” Custis sighed.

“I-I want you home.” Treavor stuttered quietly, “I don’t want to keep sneaking off to a fucking brothel just to see my brothers, and I don’t like not k-knowing if or when you’ll be back… So.” Both brothers narrowed their eyes at that.

“If?” Morgan asked slowly from the edge of the bed, Treavor shuddered, damn his nervous tongue.

“Never mind…” He muttered, “Just… Come home, please?” Treavor whined as he looked up to Custis, his brother closed his eyes and sighed, “We can’t just leave Treavor…” He said.

Treavor sobbed a heavy breath as he grappled with his brother’s arms, “Please?” He tried again, “Just for today?”

Custis dipped low to press a kiss to his brother’s cheek, “You know our answer Treavor.” He muttered as his hands returned to Treavor’s waist, “As much as we’d love to come home, we’re needed here.”

“I need you more.” Treavor whimpered as his arms came to circle Custis’ shoulders in a trembling embrace as he tucked his head into Custis’ shoulder.

Custis was warm and familiar and comforting and the thought of that warmth and comfort turning cold and dead froze Treavor’s heart.

Treavor sobbed something devastated as Custis began to rock against him once more, cooing little reassurances into Treavor’s ear. Little reassurances that in no way shape or form implied that either of his brothers intended to return home.

Custis kissed him sweetly as he came, pressing Treavor down against the pillows as his hand reached between them to fondle the younger brother, it took merely some tepid touches before Treavor found himself slipping over his stomach with a whimper. The press of their lips was soft and slow as seed seeped into Treavor and tears fell from his eyes.

Morgan made some move to hold him as Custis pulled away, but Treavor rolled from the bed on shaky legs, gathering the cloths from the floor as he limped across the room.

“I-I need to leave…” He muttered; his voice quiet, shaken as dread pooled in his gut and his brother’s seed began to slicken his thighs.

He had wasted too much time, a hand reached for his arm and Treavor wrenched himself away, Morgan blinked in surprise as the youngest brother looked up to him.

Fearsadfearfearlongingfearsadfearhatredfearfeardesperationfearfearfearworryfearsadfearfearworryfearfearguiltfearsadfearworryfearguiltfear.

“If you love me…” Treavor hissed as he tugged on his clothing, “You will come home with me.” He stated firmly as he looked between his brothers.

“I’m going to the summer home in Karnaca.” Treavor said in a shuddered whisper, “If…” Treavor clawed at his cheek, wiping away the tear stains feverishly before correcting himself with a sob.

“When you get home… Send me a letter and come join me…”

“Treavor…” Morgan spoke his name quietly.

“I love you two.” Treavor hissed as the tears returned to his cheeks, his hands found Morgan’s cheeks before he tugged his brother into a rushed press of lips, stepping back as Morgan attempted to wrap his arms around his waist.

“If you love me, you’ll leave everything and everyone here.” Treavor hissed as he backed away from Morgan.

He could see his brothers’ eyes widen, the knew he knew.

“I’m tired of waiting… Please… Just come home… Please…”

Morgan and Custis looked to one another, confusion, worry, confusion, worry…

“Treavor…” Custis tried again, spoken slowly as if to sooth a frightened animal.

“You need to trust us.”

He choked on a sob.

“No. you need to listen to me.” He snarled, “This whole plot you seem to think you’re carrying doesn’t need you. I need you.”

Treavor heaved a breath, “Something bad is going to happen… Just like with High Overseer Campbell…” Treavor looked between his brothers, “I don’t give much of a damn about what you’ve done here, and I sure as hell don’t want to know how you got straddled with babysitting the fucking Empress in a brothel. But this, all of this, needs to stop…”

Custis and Morgan met eyes.

“How did you know we were hiding the empress.” It wasn’t a question.

“You two aren’t nearly as subtle as you would like to think.” Treavor hissed, “And that lovely little blockade you’ve set up in parliament is pissing quite a few people off.”

Treavor shook his head numbly, “I’m asking you two to drop your campaign, drop everything and come home… If not for my sake than for yours.”

“You shouldn’t get involved with this Treavor…” Custis sighed, “We appreciate the concern, but we can handle ourselves.”

“Goddamn it Custis!” Treavor snapped as he shoved his brother away, pressing his palm to Custis’ bare chest, “Are you really this stupid?” He sneered as he stalked forward, sending Custis stumbling back until his knees pressed against the bed again.

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” Custis looked up to the younger brother on bewilderment as Treavor forcing dim to take a seat on the bed.

“You. Are. In. Danger.”

That finally sparked something in his brother’s eyes.

But it certainly wasn’t the spark that Treavor wanted.

An arm came around Treavor’s waist as a leg kicked out his foot from beneath him, sending Treavor sprawling. Custis pulled his falling brother back onto the bed, pressing him down into the mattress as his hands came to pin Treavor’s arms above his head.

“What, pray tell little brother, did you tell your new friends?” Custis hissed from above.

“Nothing.” Treavor breathed; his voice quiet but firm.

“Overseer Campbell had a journal where he kept all of his little black secrets.” Treavor murmured, “He was stupid enough to be indiscriminate about the damn thing, and even worse?” Treavor rose with what little mobility his brother offered him to speak softly against Custis’ lips.

“He had the gull to mention you, Morgan and your supposed duties.”

Custis stared down at Treavor, eyes wide, breath heavy. The hand holding Treavor’s wrist loosened…

“I wouldn’t betray you…” Treavor soothed calmly as he brought his hands to Custis’ face, “You’re my brothers and I love you.”

Treavor brought his knee to Custis’ side, not hard enough to hurt his brother, but enough to topple Custis over. Treavor scrambled atop his older brother before Custis could protest, he didn’t bother attempting to restrain Custis is any way, his brother was stronger than him.

“I need you two to come home.” Treavor repeated, “So I know exactly where you are, so I know that you are safe…” He muttered firmly as he set his hands on Custis’ shoulders.

Morgan hummed a tittered sort of laugh as he settled just behind Treavor, leaning down to rest his chin on the younger brother’s shoulder as his hands settled by Treavor’s waist.

“Don’t you look pretty in control?”

Morgan was on his knees the next moment as Treavor not quite slammed his elbow into his brother’s stomach, springing up from his seat atop Custis before said brother could grab him.

“We don’t have time for that.” Treavor hissed as he looked down at Morgan.

“Get dressed and come home.” He snapped before walking to the door.

Treavor ignored the call of name as he rounded the corner, keeping his head down as he passed other pleasure seekers while the tears returned to his cheeks.

He had said his two cents… He knew what he asked of his brothers was impossible. But at least he could say he tried…  
Treavor found himself at the docks far too soon.

The sun was just reaching early afternoon as Treavor took a seat on a drainage pipe beneath an old rotted dock, drawing his knees to his chest as he watched the water.

Anxiety and fear rolled about his stomach as his head burned with thought.

What if his brothers didn’t take him seriously?

What if his brothers ignored his warnings?

What if his brothers got out too late?

What if?

What if?

What if?

Treavor damned himself as he waited…

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“I take it your meeting didn’t go too well?” Samuel asked quietly as his small boat settled against the shore nearly half an hour after Treavor had fled from the Golden Cat.

Half an hour Treavor could have spent with his brothers…

Half an hour he had squandered sitting by the river.

Treavor looked up from his seat atop the drainage pipe. He knew he looked a mess, he smelled of sex and his brothers, the slickness between his thighs had seeped through his pants, he’d blame it on the pipe if asked. The marks Morgan had so kindly pressed into his skin were a beautiful shame against his neck.

He had been crying, most unbefitting of a noble, but he wasn’t in the particular mood to care then and there.

In the whole while he had been alone, Treavor had convinced himself that he had failed. There was no rhyme or reason for his brothers to listen to him…

His brothers thought him paranoid.

His brothers thought him weak.

His brothers would be dead before the day was over…

And he’d be alone.

The thought was crippling.

Corvo exited the boat, wreathed in blank like some unholy avenging angel, blade at his side, crossbow in hand and pistol in its holster, he was an intimidating figure without question.

The last thing his bothers would see…

Treavor stood as the Lord Protector passed, snagging the cuff of the larger man’s sleeve.

That damn mask zeroed in on the soon to be only remaining Pendleton as Corvo paused, Treavor could hear the faintest clicks of the inner mechanisms within as the Lord Protector focused his gaze on the smaller man.

“I tried…” Treavor murmured, “But they wouldn’t listen…”

Corvo remained silent…

“I know my brothers don’t deserve your mercy Lord Protector… But if you would be so kind as to… Not let them suffer, I would be indebted to you…”

A contemplating pause, a single, slow, curt nod.

Treavor released his fragile hold on the reapers sleeve and Corvo was gone…

“There should be enough time for me to get you back to the Hounds Pit if you’d like?” Samuel offered quietly after a few silent minutes; Treavor blinked as he turned to the boatman.

“I don’t think you’d like to be here when Corvo gets back…” The old sea dog explained wearily.

“Have… Have you ever lost a brother?” Treavor found himself asking quietly as he stepped onto the small boat, holding is hand out as Samuel made some move to start the motor.

“Best not waste gas…” Treavor huffed delicately; Samuel nodded slowly.

“I was raised with three of my cousins.” Samuel began, “They were a right bunch of bastards, but they were family…” Treavor nodded slowly.

“My father wanted me to be an Overseer… And he managed to convince old Beckett into the ropes…” Samuel shook his head, “Beckett was the oldest, never made it past initiation. I was fourteen when we put him in the ground…”

Treavor drew his knees to his chest again as he choked on another sob.

“I haven’t heard from Calre in years.” Samuel continued, “I don’t know if she’s dead yet… I’d like to think she’s happy, somewhere far away, somewhere safe… I have a crate of unsent letters I’ve written over the years, I don’t know where she is, so I can’t mail them out…”

The tops of Treavor’s knees were dampening as the tears falling from his cheeks seeped into the fabric.

“And my youngest cousin, Neil… Well Neil caught the plague during the first outbreak…” Samuel confessed, “I knew it was coming, his death… Didn’t make it any easier…”

The old boatman looked to the noble before him.

“Death is never an easy thing Lord Pendleton.” He said simply, “You will mourn, and no one can think less of you for it…”

“Does it always hurt?” Treavor asked, Samuel shrugged, “Not always.” He admitted, “Depends on what relationship was lost. Beckett was nearly a decade older than me when he died so we never really caught on. Clare and I used to be close, but after Beckett died, she closed herself off…”

The old boatman heaved a sigh, “I didn’t cry at Beckett’s funeral and I didn’t cry when Clare left… But Neil and I were close… I poured my soul out into the river when I lost him, and sometimes I still find myself getting mighty worked up when I think about him…”

Treavor nodded slowly.

“Morgan and Custis were cruel to me when I was young.” Treavor murmured, “They blamed me for our mother’s death… Tormented me endlessly…”

A huffed, melancholy laugh passed Treavor’s lips.

“They only stopped when…” Treavor bit his tongue to halt himself from delving further into his sorry excuse of a life. Some secrets he intended to take to the grave.

“When it was just us three left…” Treavor shook his head solemnly as he uselessly rubbed at his cheek, “I don’t know what changed… But something did and I guess that was enough for them to stop their crueler games…” The young nobleman sniffled.

“We’ve never been as close as most brothers aught to be in some cases… And in others I dare say we were far too close… But we were all we had…” Treavor sighed.

“They may not have been the best people, let alone brothers… But they had their moments…” A firm hand settled over his shoulder as Samuel offered the young lord a tight hand.

“Cherish those moments Lord Pendleton.” He said.

“I… I think I’ll miss them dreadfully.” Treavor admitted wordlessly.

Samuel could only nod, there wasn’t much else to say afterwards…

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Your brothers spoke of you fondly. Though they were quite mean.” The young Empress chimed as she took a seat beside Treavor, it was miraculous how she just appeared, nearly skipping down the mucked shoreline in her pristine white clothing hardly half an hour after Corvo disappeared…

She approached them without fear and simply said that Corvo had directed her to the river.

“A strange lady helped me along the way.” Emily said, “She called herself Granny Rags and she was a bit cookie, but nice enough to point me in the right direction.”

The young Empress was brimming with life, impossibly happy despite the fact that her world was crumbling around her.

“Did they now?” Treavor mused softly as he looked to the young Empress, he could feel the roll of emotions swell within his chest at the mere mention of his brothers…

Emily nodded, “I could hear them sometimes through the vents, they sound the same, so I just listened for someone who sounded like they were talking to themselves.”

Treavor laughed at that as his eyes began to burn again.

“They helped me with my homework, apparently being kidnapped doesn’t count as a break.” The young Empress shrugged, “They were good at explaining things and nice enough at teaching, but they kept getting upset whenever I called them by the wrong name.”

Treavor nodded slowly as the tears in his eyes began to fall again, “They used to help me with my schoolwork when I was your age…” He mumbled, “I never had an issue with telling them apart…” Emily pouted and crossed her arms.

“They look the exact same!” She complained, “And then they tripped me up just when I finally memorized who wore what. Did you know they have the exact same suite?” Treavor sighed.

“Charcoal grey with gold trim…” He replied quietly, “Their business suits…” Emily merely huffed, “And then they thought it’d be funny to switch suites!”

Treavor remained quiet as his thoughts roared and raged inside his head.

A gentle hand settled against his shoulder.

“They spoke of you often.” Emily said softly as she offered the nobleman beside her a tissue. Treavor huffed as he dabbed at his eyes, here he was, soon to be head of his house, crying like a child before the Empress.

How unbefitting of a noble…

“Whenever they thought I wasn’t listening or when they thought they were being quiet… They always asked the other how they thought you were doing.” Emily said softly.

“They always sounded so worried when they spoke of you, I think they missed you.”

Treavor closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

“I… We weren’t able to see much of one another these past few months…” He replied quietly, “I visited them seldom…”

The young Empress nodded, “I think I heard you a few times through the vents.” She mused, “I definitely remember them cutting one of my lessons short to see someone. I went to bed early that night because it was too late for anything else.”

Treavor remembered that visit. He had to get one of the whores to go fetch his brothers when he couldn’t find them. They brought him to the ivory room and ordered in some tasters from the kitchen and a sweet wine to talk over before they took him on his knees until he cried their names and begged for his pleasure.

“They sounded lighter with you.” Emily hummed, “And I think I definitely recognize your voice...” Treavor looked to Emily, his throat cooling as his stomach churned.

“They sounded much lighter, happier I guess, when they spoke with you.” Emily repeated, “Every other time they spoke to the madam or me or the cat girls or the guard, they always sounded so grumpy…”

Treavor cupped a hand over his mouth to stifle the wet sob which threatened to roll from his chest.

“Y-you said they were… Mean?” He stuttered; the young Empress shrugged, “They didn’t like my drawings or answering my questions, and they certainly didn’t appreciate my escape attempts.”

Emily frowned as she looked up to Treavor, he could feel another roll of heated agony fall down his cheek.

“Were they mean to you too?” She asked softly.

“Once… Some time ago…” Treavor croaked, “I-I apologise on their behalf for their behavior…”

“Don’t bother.” Emily chimed, “Once I’m Empress for real, I’m going to throw an apology party! Where everyone who took part in this whole mess can apologize to me and mother. Your brothers can say sorry then!”

Treavor turned away, his hand returning to his mouth to catch his cries as his tears rolled over his knuckles.

“I-I’m sure t-they would be delighted to attend Empress…”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Corvo returned some hour or so after Emily, silent as death and blissfully bloodless.

The young Empress chatted merrily with her Lord Protector while Treavor watched and hoped, prayed desperately that his brothers had actually listened to him, had left as soon as they could.

They’d be upset with him when they returned to an empty homestead, but hopefully they would head to Karnaca soon after, following the trail he left without delay, then of course they would worry once they reached Karnaca to find him missing there as well.

Treavor would make his way out to the summer home as soon as he could to make it up to them.

He could see them together in that summer home on the shores, far smaller than the homestead, quainter and cozier too. There were many fond memories made in that house.

Quiet mornings and late evenings where he stifled his voice in his brother’s shoulders as they fucked him gently, softly, to ensure the bed wouldn’t squeak and their parents wouldn’t hear.

Once he reached Karnaca, he would apologise to his brothers on his knees he imagined, or however his brothers saw fit.

They would stay in Karnaca until the mess back in Dunwall settled, and them the young Empress would throw her ‘apology party’ and Treavor would make Morgan and Custis grovel.

And then-

Corvo held out his hand, fist closed around something.

Treavor’s heart froze in his chest.

He looked between the fist and then up to that damn mask before slowly holding out his hand…

A white handkerchief was pressed into his palm, wrapped around something small… Round…

Treavor knew immediately what it was, just by its weight and feel…

Treavor liked to toy with the heirship ring Custis wore, during the lazier moments they shared pressed against one another he would absently play with the silver band, run his thumb over the mounted Pendleton crest, idly spin the ring on his brother’s finger…

And now it sat in his palm…

The boat started with a rumble and soon after, the rooftops of the Golden Cat disappeared…

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Treavor spoke not a single word the entire boat ride back to the Hounds Pit. The ring felt impossibly heavy in his palm and the handkerchief Corvo had so disgustingly blessed him with smelled like Morgan…

He held them both close to his chest as he watched the water.

Corvo and Emily departed first, Treavor willed himself to leave once the Lord Protector was out of sight. He murmured a soft bit of thanks to Samuel before he wandered off into the pub.

He couldn’t bring himself to the bar room, as much as he’d love to drown himself in whatever shit wine was left in the brewery, he couldn’t afford to be so inebriated lest he began to spill his guts…

Furthermore, the thought of seeing Havelock made his chest tighten quite unpleasantly.

Martin wouldn’t be of much aid in his state either, that man was a snake tongued bastard when it came to keeping secrets. Though he was technically an Overseer… Perhaps once Treavor could think of his brothers without wishing to join them, he would speak with Martin, see if he could offer some… Spiritual guidance.

Treavor doubted the ladies of the pit would be interested in what he had to say, though they would certainly listen. Women were like that, always willing to listen.

Cecelia would offer condolences and perhaps her shoulder to cry on, she was gentle like that, always willing to help. Though half the time her head was full of city fog, she was an honest dreamer.

Lydia however would be very blunt, she wouldn’t offer him kindness, sympathies yes, but not kindness, she would speak her mind and relent her own experiences, if she had any. She was a creature of habit, and her habits kept her on the relatively straight and narrow, but her habits were of no aid to Treavor.

Callista on the other hand…

The Curnow family had suffered greatly over that past few years, out of every damn soul in all of Dunwall, it was safe to put money on the fact that Callista had lost more family than anyone…

She would know how Treavor felt… Perhaps she would not be a kind of Cecelia, but she wouldn’t be as blunt as Lydia…

She would know…

“Ah, uh. Lord Pendleton.” A grating voice suddenly… Not quite squeaked from just before Treavor as Piero scrambled back to his feet from the floor. Eyes downcast, ears tinted pink.

“Joplin.” Treavor replied with a nod, the smaller man nervously wrung his wrists, “I uh, heard about Corvo’s most recent plight…” He stammered, “You have my condolences Lord Pendleton…”

Treavor huffed, “I have everyone’s condolences.” He muttered coolly, “I’m beginning to tire of hearing that damn word…”

“Ah, of course…” Piero murmured quietly, “A mourning period is a rather awkward time.” He mused, “People deal with death differently, so most observers merely offer their sympathies and wait for the mourner to either come to them or face their trying time alone…”

Treavor sighed heavily, he just wanted to find a dark corner and cry…

“I… I suppose I should be heading back to my shop.” Piero said quickly, “Do feel free to come by if you need something made Lord Pendleton.”

Treavor paused at that, “Made?” He repeated softly, Piero jumped slightly before he turned back to face the nobleman, “I, yes. Made Lord Pendleton.”

Treavor pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Have you… Any spare chain?” He finally asked, “Not boat chain or the like but, thin…”

Piero’s brows slowly rose.

“Corvo was… Kind enough to take some things of my… Brothers.” Treavor admitted quietly as he gingerly took the cloth and ring from his inner pocket, “The Heirship ring from Custis and a crested handkerchief Morgan always had on him…” Treavor murmured simply.

“I can’t wear the ring you see; it belongs to a… To a dead man.” Treavor silenced the shudder which threatened to seep into his voice, “I doubt I would be doing anyone any favors by wearing it… But I can’t just throw it aside…”

Piero skirted a step or so closer to look over the relics Treavor held in his hand, humming thoughtfully as he gently took the ring from the nobleman’s palm.

“I may have some leftover spring wire… But not much else to make something as… Fashionable as I am sure you are used too.”

Treavor shook his head, “It doesn’t need to be aesthetically pleasing… I just want them close…”

Piero nodded, “If you let me take these now, I can get something done before night.”

“You will be careful with them, won’t you?” Treavor asked quietly.

“Of course, Lord Pendleton.” Piero replied softly, “I shall return them to you before night, you have my word.

Treavor allowed the smaller man to pass, taking what little remained of his brothers with him…

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Wallace…” Treavor called inaudibly from his seat on the bed, his overcoat tossed over a nearby chair, his shirt partially undone, his fingers and thumb gently running over the small necklace Piero had crafted for him.

It was an unsightly thing, crafted from tightly twined spring wire, Morgan’s handkerchief was wrapped around the cable securely to offer some padding while Custis’ ring hung from it’s center like a macabre jewel, settling just between Treavor’s collar bones...

Treavor decided immediately upon seeing it that he would cherish the thing dearly…

Familiar footsteps approached, pausing as they reached the door, Treavor couldn’t bring himself to look up, his knees were tucked to his chest, his eyes red and sore, voice hoarse… He looked a right mess…

“Yes, my Lord?” The manservant asked quietly as he entered the room.

Treavor remained staring at the floor…

“Was I a bad brother?” Treavor asked quietly once Wallace’s shadow stopped just before him, the pain seated in the center of his chest burned…

“I… I wouldn’t say so, my Lord…” Wallace answered, unsure and slow.

“Then why couldn’t I save them?”

The manservant stopped, “Save them, my Lord?” He questioned; Treavor huffed hollowly as he looked up to meet Wallace’s eyes.

“My brothers are dead Wallace…” He muttered coolly, “I was given a chance to save them, get them out of Dunwall, away from this… This shitshow!” Treavor’s breath stuttered as he gestured wildly at noting.

“And I fucking failed…”

Treavor ran his fingers through his hair, the sensation, a pale imitation of Morgan or Custis’ hand. He choked on a sob.

“I hated them you know…” He whispered, “I remember… Crying to you, you remember, yes?”

Wallace nodded.

“Crying as you rubbed that ointment onto my neck because I was so fucking humiliated…” Treavor’s hand came to rub his throat, swiping away the dusty powder which hid the bruises below.

“That was the first night Morgan had ever drawn blood and I was scared, so I went to you…” The bed dipped beside the younger… Only Pendleton, as Wallace took a seat.

“They never stopped…” Treavor whispered, “They never stopped… I only grew to accommodate them… Then appreciate them…” Treavor heaved a sour breath.

“I think I even came to long for their sick games…”

A large hand settled against Treavor’s back.

“I loved my brothers in ways brothers are not supposed to love…” Treavor admitted silently as he leaned against Wallace.

“And now they are dead… And I am alone… And I could have saved them.”

Wallace remained by his Lord’s side until Treavor’s cheeks finally dried from the tears once they stopped falling.

“Thank you, Wallace…” Treavor murmured quietly, “I… I don’t know what I’d do if you died too…”

Wallace sighed, “Of course, my Lord…” He offered numbly before murmuring a compulsive, “Is there anything you’ll be needing before bed?”

Treavor huffed hollowly, feeling as the ring gently brushed against his skin with the movement, “Something to tire me…” He muttered.

“I heard the admiral had some aged whiskey, perhaps I could ask him for a thumb?” Wallace suggested softly; Treavor paused thoughtfully before nodding.

The weight beside him disappeared as Wallace left, Treavor closed his eyes and counted the seconds as he waited. Running is thumb over the ring and his fingers over the cloth bound wire.

“My Lord?”

One minute, forty-three seconds.

Treavor stood from the bed and walked past Wallace, his hand never left the ring and cloth around his throat, not even as he closed the door and deadbolted it.

Wallace remained where he stood, silently offering the thumb of liquor to his lord.

“I am about to do something very, very stupid Wallace.” Treavor announced calmly as he took the whiskey from the manservant’s hand, Wallace looked between the smaller man’s eyes as Treavor moved to stand just before him, his mouth parted to voice his concern, but his breath silenced as Treavor raised a hand.

“Tell me to stop if you get uncomfortable, make me if I don’t.”

“My Lord I don’t understand.” Wallace said quickly as he reached for the nobleman before him.

Treavor threw back the thumb and tossed the glass to the ground.

Miraculously, it bounced, chipped and then rolled off to some quiet corner as Treavor stepped to his manservant and dragged Wallace down to kiss him.

Wallace was tall, not as tall as Lord Montgomery Shaw, but taller than Morgan and Custis. His lips were firm and rough from weather and time, but nice all the same… Different.

The kiss was lingering and shy, Treavor may have initiated the first contact, but he was openly offering his submission. Wallace pressed back against the smaller man reservedly as his hands cautiously settled at Treavor’s hips.

Treavor slowly led his servant to the bed, forcing Wallace to take a seat at the edge before Treavor moved to straddle his lap.

The hands at his hips jolted before reaching to grip the nobleman’s arms, forcing Treavor to lean back, away. Wallace looked scorned, his eyes wide and nervous, his cheeks were smeared with wetness. Treavor hadn’t even realised he had been crying…

“W-we shouldn’t.” The manservant stammered.

“No, we shouldn’t.” Treavor agreed quietly as he brought a hand to dry his cheeks.

“You’re grieving my Lord.” Wallace stated.

“I am…” Treavor murmured.

“I am… I am not the… The late Lords Pendleton.” Wallace said slowly.

“You most certainly are not.” Treavor huffed as his hands gently settled at Wallace’s cheeks, running his thumbs of the smears of tears he had left.

“You are not Morgan, or Custis… I am grieving, this is a mistake… And I need it.” Treavor muttered as he attempted to lean close once more; Wallace frowned heavily.

“Why don’t we get you to the Golden Cat for the eve then?”

A pause.

A broken sob wrenched itself from Treavor’s chest before he shoved himself away from his manservant’s lap.

“Where do you think they were Wallace!” Treavor snarled as he grabbed one of the two pillows at the head of the bed while Wallace scrambled to his feet, “Having a bloody picnic by the pier? You, you insensitive idiot!”

The pillow was tossed at the manservant’s head, colliding harmlessly as Treavor turned to face Wallace. “You think I’ll ever be able to go back to that bloody brothel knowing… Knowing…” A choked whimper ended the sentence as Treavor sunk onto the bed.

“Apologies my Lord…” Wallace murmured softly, “That was inane of me.”

“Damn straight it was…” Treavor muttered into the remaining pillow as he curled in on himself atop the mattress.

“Is there… Anything else I could do for you?” Wallace asked again, Treavor heaved some broken sigh.

“If you don’t intend to fuck me, no. You can leave.”

A pause. Wallace retreated to the door.

Treavor was alone…


	2. Sad Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treavor just stumbling through the grieving process.
> 
> Thank the Void for Wallace and literally everyone else to the Hounds Pit who decided to scrape this sad, sad lonely man off the fucking floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitch, did you think I was dead?

A whole seven, technically eight, days before someone, anyone noticed that Morgan and Custis Pendleton had gone missing…

Grief was a funny thing. For the whole week before the summons, Treavor found himself flipping between states of near unresponsive episodes of grieving and desperate, damnedest attempts to keep himself occupied, the switch between the two states was often abrupt, sometimes violent.

He nearly drowned himself in alcohol his first night alone, come afternoon he had never seen Wallace quite so… Pale… Sick with worry the manservant was.

The next time he asked for a drink, Wallace brought him water.

Treavor snapped and snarled as hot tears rolled down his cheeks until Wallace relented and retrieved one of his favorite vintages as what Treavor assumed to be an apology.

Treavor nursed the brimming glass of wine he had poured himself for the rest of the day…

The first sip he choked upon.

The second brought him no comfort or warmth.

The third he forced himself to take.

And by the fourth, Treavor realized that he couldn’t taste anything but bitter guilt and regret…

Treavor never finished the glass he poured himself…

:

  
Later, once the taste of guilt was off his tongue, Treavor began to pace, pace his room, pace the halls, by evening he was restlessly lapping the perimeter of the Hounds Pit…

  
“Lord Pendleton?”

  
A soft voice called from the side door before small Cecelia stepped out into the dimming glow of sunset, she approached slowly, pausing some shy reach from the taller man before reaching into her coat pocket and offering the lord a handkerchief.  
Treavor hadn’t realized he was crying…

  
“Wallace was worrying about you, you know…” She murmured quietly, her hand still offering the napkin, “He told me to leave you be, but you looked like you could use a friend.”

  
Treavor blinked at that.

  
“Friend?” He repeated slowly, hoarsely, Cecelia shrugged, “Or someone to talk to.” She said simply, raising her hand slightly higher and cocking her brow as she looked between her hand and Treavor.

  
Treavor took the tissue.

  
“I know most people don’t like how much I talk.” Cecelia sighed, “But I don’t understand how you people can just bottle everything up.” Treavor nodded slowly as he wiped away the tears still clinging to his cheeks.

  
“I can see Wallace giving me a dirty look from the window…” Cecelia sighed as she smiled, nice and bright and big as she waved up.  
“I’ll probably get yelled at later for disturbing you… But I meant what I said, if you need a friend to talk to, I’ll be here.”

  
“When?” Treavor breathed softly as his shoulders shuddered, “When… When would be a good time to come to you?” He asked.

  
Cecelia shrugged, “I’m here now.” She chimed, Treavor shook his head, “Not here…” He muttered quietly, “Would… Would it be rude to ask you to come to my room?”

  
The younger woman paused.

  
“I… I don’t want to…”

  
“If that’s where you feel safe.” Cecelia replied softly before turning towards the door. “You go on ahead, I’ll meet you there with extra blankets and something to eat, it’s dinner.”

  
And she did.

  
It was a very… Strange experience for Treavor, to simply sit and talk, honest and simply…

  
When Cecelia arrived with a tray of food, a large plush blanket and a smile, Treavor wasn’t sure what to think, especially as she simply settled into his room without worry or care.

  
She took a seat beside him on his bed, wrapped the quilt around their shoulders and set the tray down on the bedside table, then, as if second nature, she pulled him down until Treavor’s head was resting on her shoulder.

  
And it was…

  
Warm, comfortable…

  
Treavor spoke, soft and quiet and Cecelia listened… _Listened_.

  
Occasionally she would ask questions and Treavor would end up rambling for what seemed like hours at a time, reminiscing about his brothers and better days…

  
Cecelia took his hand as the tears returned.

  
Her hand was so much smaller than his own, but it was tough, well weathered, a worker’s hand… So impossibly different from Morgan’s soft palm or Custis’ lightly calloused fingers…

  
Different… But nice…

  
The sting of betrayal, was this betrayal? Brought a choked sob to Treavor’s lips. Cecelia cooed something tenderly as she drew him close, tucking his head beneath her chin.

  
Treavor found himself clinging to the smaller woman, sobbing into her chest as her hands ran across his back and her words brushed against his hair.

  
She could only offer her condolences and sympathies.

  
“It’s alright.”

  
“You’re going to be okay.”

  
“Everything will be fine.”

  
Treavor wanted to hate her viciously… But her lies, her lies so sweet… Treavor so desperately wanted to believe them.

  
Treavor fell asleep pressed against the servant, expecting to wake alone and ashamed.

  
Cecelia stayed by his side through the long night and Treavor buried his face into her shoulder come dawn, thanking her the only way he knew how…

  
“Did it help?” She asked softly as her finger traced over the fading bruise Custis had left on his hip, her breath ghosted over his chest, just below Custis’ ring...

  
“No…”

  
Cecelia exhaled from her position atop his chest before she rolled onto her stomach, propping herself up onto her elbows to look down at the nobleman before her.

  
“I’m sorry…” She sighed, “Talking usually helps me if I’m upset, it was all I could think of offering. Wallace said not to disturb you but-”

  
“You didn’t.” Treavor said quickly as rolled onto his side to better face the servant, the ring and handkerchief pulled at his neck like a noose, but heavy like a stone.

  
“You… You were a blessing last night.” Treavor mumbled sheepishly.

  
“Just… I’m… I’m not good with… With women.” Treavor admitted quietly, regret stung in his chest as the skin in contact with what little was left of his brothers burned...

  
“You were very good with me.” Cecelia mused softly as she slipped her fingers between his.

  
“No, I… I really wasn’t.” Treavor muttered, “We… I shouldn’t have…”

  
Cecelia leaned close and kissed his cheek.

  
“Do you regret it?” She asked quietly.

  
Treavor bit his lip and closed his eyes as he nodded, fully expecting to be slapped or perhaps clawed.

  
“Do you regret me?”

  
Treavor’s heart stuttered.

  
“No.” He said, swallowing thickly afterwards, “Not you… Not you, just…”

  
Cecelia smiled sadly as she squeezed his hand.

  
“The timing was wrong.” She offered; Treavor nodded.

  
She pulled away and Treavor let her go, watching as she strut about his room, collecting her cloths from the floor.

  
She wasn’t angry with him, the warm sunlit smile she offered was evidence enough. She didn’t feel the crawl of regret, or the sting of guilt, she hadn’t been used, or at least she didn’t feel as though she had…

  
“My shoulder is still yours if you need something to cry on.” She chimed lightly, sweetly as she pulled on her hat.

  
“I’ll send Wallace up with breakfast when I see him.” She said as she grabbed the tray from the night before.

  
And then she was gone.

  
Treavor found himself desperately longing for her warmth… Not as he had that morning, but as they had been last night, simply together...

  
Not alone…

  
:

  
That very afternoon, Treavor slammed headfirst into a wall of complete and total lethargy, he could hardy bring himself to do…

Anything, well, anything other then the barest of functions.

  
He bathed, got dressed, ate, drank… But he couldn’t bring himself to do much else.

  
People were exhausting and talking seemed more like an impossible chore.

  
At one point, he tried to sip a glass of white to ease his nerves… But every time he brought the glass to his lips, he would always remember the bitter taste of guilt and regret… It made the wine taste like ash and burn more like fire in his throat.

  
So, Treavor simply sat at the bar, sad and silent, nursing his warm glass of wine until Lydia approached.

  
“You’re making the whole room feel like a crypt with how damn mopey you’re being!” She said simply as she snatched the glass from his fingers and wiped away the ring of water beneath with a rag.

  
“Well excuse me, my brothers are dead.” Treavor snarled weakly, “If I choose to wallow in the barroom I bloody well will.” He snipped.

  
Lydia merely rolled her eyes before grabbing his sleeve and tugged him from his seat. “Well excuse me Lord Pendleton, I for one am sick of your wallowing.”

  
Treavor was tempted to snap back at the woman, but… Well, what was the point?

  
Lydia dragged him up the stairs and into the servant quarters before guiding him to the small piano pressed against the wall, it was dusty but there had evidently been some attempt to clean it.

  
Lydia sat in the center of the bench and ordered Treavor to sit beside her as she cracked her knuckles.

  
“I know how to play the piano.” Treavor quipped irritably as Lydia’s fingers flew over the basic scales, the sound was calming, safe for the two or three out of tune keys.

  
A visceral memory crept up the back of Treavor’s neck. They, himself, Morgan and Custis had gone to the orchestra, sat in their typical private overhang, a large shielded awning designed for comfort, and for about the first half hour they watched the musicians play.

  
Then Morgan forced Treavor onto his back atop one of the sloped sofas and told him to be quiet…

  
Lydia huffed and sat back once she had finished the scale, crossing her arms as she looked up to Treavor expectantly, “Then play something.” She snapped back. Her tone wasn’t cruel, curt certainly, but more playful then anything.

  
Treavor narrowed his eyes before shuffling over to the center of the bench. He played the saddest song he knew, missing some keys here and there, pressing to hard or too soft, he was rusty and honestly quite bad, but for a few minutes, he forgot why exactly he had been sitting at the bar.

  
“You should get a hobby.” Lydia mused as she hip-checked Treavor out of the center of the bench again, “When my father died, my mother forced me to play the piano every time I started getting too sad, it helped a lot, kept me busy, distracted.”

  
Lydia’s hands flowed across they piano keys like water, the melody was fluent and pristine.

  
Just as it had been the eve his brothers kissed him soundless and fucked him to the sound of the orchestra.

  
“It doesn’t have to be piano or even music, but it should be something.” Lydia continued, “Skipping stones, reading, hell, I took up gardening when my mother died.”

  
Treavor pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  
“If you can’t think of anything you might like, I want you to come to me so we can figure out something for you to do.” Lydia… Not quite demanded.

  
“And for the love of the abbey, don’t drink.” She most definitely demanded that time. “You worried Wallace half to death the other night… He hates seeing you like this you know?”

  
Treavor nodded slowly.

  
They sat there for another hour or so, taking turns playing whatever they could on that small piano before Lydia declared that she needed to get back to work.

  
The brittle notes Treavor continued to play kept him company until Wallace found him and offered to take him back to his room.

  
Lydia quickly became the one who sought out Treavor or whom Treavor sought out when he felt the itch for a drink begin to claw at his throat. As much as he’d love to sink into that blissful numbness…

  
Everything seemed to taste of ash.

  
One afternoon when the itch returned and Treavor wasn’t exactly feeling inclined to bother Lydia (again) to reteach him how to play the piano, she found him sitting quietly in his room at the Hounds Pit, staring at a wall with such a pitifully vacant expression that she pulled out her emergency deck of cards right then and there and taught the nobleman ‘speed’ until Treavor won a round or two.

  
:

  
The next day, Treavor decided to approach Martin, seeing as Martin was the resident Overseer, for some spiritual advice regarding his time of strife. Martin honestly seemed surprised that Treavor would approach him on such a subject, but the Overseer spoke to him faithfully, regarding the grieving process and how to avoid temptations during his time of weakness.

  
“I take it you aren’t much of a religious man Pendleton.” Martin mused between puffs of a cigarette, “Not many aristocrats are, lucky for you, I don’t particularly care about the dirt on your nose.” Treavor made some huffed noise of disgruntlement.

  
“None of that now Lord Pendleton. You came to an Overseer in need of guidance, and as an Overseer, I am to put all personal affiliations aside to aid you in any way I can.”

  
Martin snuffed out his cigarette in the ash tray before turning to face Treavor across the table they were seated at. “Now, explain the problem as simply as you can.”

  
Treavor paused, he could think of a hundred different ways to explain his situation, but simply?

  
“My brothers are dead… Because of me…”

  
Martin cocked a brow, “Now… I’m quite sure it was the Lord Protector who was charged with seeing to your brother’s removal.” The Overseer stated matter-o-fact-ly.

  
“Must you be so crude?” Treavor hissed, Martin shrugged, “I’ll be honest with you Lord Pendleton, from my experience, grief is best handled in laymen’s terms with no added sugar.” Martin set his hands flat against the top of the table.

  
“If you wanted your flowery fanfare, you aught to have gone back to the estate district, and if you wanted sugar you should have crawled back to Cecelia or Calista.” Martin snipped.

  
“Now, since we’ve established that Corvo was the one who killed your brothers, can you tell me why you feel responsible for their deaths?”

  
Treavor once again paused to contemplate; each word he spoke felt like a knife sliding into his gut.

  
“I couldn’t save them…” Treavor grit out, “I… I tried to get them to leave, to listen to me… But they wouldn’t.”

  
Martin nodded slowly as he crossed his arms over his chest, a foot brushed Treavor’s shin as the Overseer crossed his legs beneath the table.

  
“If they weren’t listening to you then what happened was the consequence for ignoring you.”

  
“Then I should have tried harder!” Treavor snapped, “I should… I should have done something more… I…” A hand gripped Treavor’s wrist as Martin leaned over the table.

  
“Your brothers made their bed Treavor.” The Overseer held up a hand to silence the retort Treavor prepared to snarl, “Your brothers made their bed and you tried to warn them that there was shit in it. They didn’t listen and you couldn’t very well drag them away, could you?”

  
“I could have done something.” Treavor repeated firmly.

  
“Not without jeopardising yourself.” Martin pointed out, “Not without jeopardising the entire conspiracy…” The Overseer sighed heavily, “I’m going to tell you this once, only once Lord Pendleton, and you never heard it from me.”

  
Treavor blinked.

  
“You are an incredibly brave man Treavor.”

  
Treavor… Blinked.

  
“Not many people would stick their neck out as far as you did for your brothers, and I admire that. What happened was a tragedy for your family and I recognize that. You feel responsible for your brothers’ death and I can understand that.”

  
The hand on Treavor’s wrist squeezed gently.

  
“But you need to understand that you are not responsible for their deaths.”

  
Later, after the air cleared and a good portion of the guilt Treavor was suffocating beneath was removed, Martin brought Treavor out into the back court.

  
“One of the best ways I have found to avoid certain temptations, is to completely remove said temptations.” Martin called as he set out a line of wine bottles atop the cement railing opposite the court.

  
The Overseer handed Treavor his service pistol with a wide grin before moving to stand behind the nobleman.

  
They spent the rest of the day shooting wine bottle, both full and empty.

  
:

  
Treavor never once spoke to Havelock at length through the week. Mere passing words which could have delved further, but Treavor never let them.

  
:

  
Treavor couldn’t bring himself to look at the Lord Protector…

:

  
And then there was Calista…

  
Calista the governess who had witnessed more death than most, who had survived the guilt, the pain, the grief of loss…

  
Calista who sat beside Treavor for hours at a time, speaking to him, simply speaking to him, not as Cecelia had, soft and sweet, but constructively, guiding the conversation to help him sort out the static in his head and bring the heavy weights in his chest to his tongue.

  
Calista who would stand by the door and listen as he and Lydia sat on the too small piano bench and play horrible little jingles on the dusty old piano.

  
Calista who would fetch glasses of water and tissues for Cecelia and Treavor whenever the tears would not stop.

  
Callista who took the time to teach Treavor how to plat cat’s cradle and build card houses when he couldn’t bring himself to leave his room and Lydia couldn’t come to him.

  
Calista who took hold of Treavor’s hands and told him ‘no’ when he made some misguided move to bed her as he had Cecelia. “You are grieving Lord Pendleton.” She told him firmly as she ran her thumbs over the back of his knuckles, “You are grieving… You do not love me; you do not want this.”

  
And she was right.

  
Calista who, by the time the summons finally reached Treavor, had selflessly aided the grieving nobleman through every twist and turn he had faced through the week, dragging him from the quiet bouts of despair he suffered and into the sunlight or quietly keeping him busy in whatever way she could…

  
:

  
It had taken a week… Technically eight days before a watch summons finally found its way into Treavor’s hands…

  
Its contents were sparse at best, detailing little as to what he was being summoned for, not that Treavor needed specifics, he already knew the exact fate of his brothers…

  
His brothers were dead.

  
He was alone.

  
His brothers were dead.

  
He was alone.

  
“When was the last time you saw your brothers Lord Pendleton?” The watchman, Avery Rivin he introduced himself as, asked from his seat opposite Treavor, the desk between them was simple though cluttered.

  
Not at all like Custis’ desk back home, with his neat piles of papers and pristine inkwell.

  
The ring and cloth bound wire hung heavy.

  
“Last I heard from my brothers they were off at the Golden Cat on some business.” Treavor replied coolly; all the letter detailed was the fact that he needed to speak with the guard at his nearest discretion, no inkling as to what he was wanted for was mentioned and therefore, Treavor, in any other circumstances, would be oblivious to the nature of the call.

  
The watchman before Treavor cocked a brow, “Business?” He repeated slowly, “At the Golden Cat?” Treavor rolled his eyes, “Yes.” He hissed, “They’ve practically been squatting at that damn brothel for the past six months, they refused to tell me what on earth they’re doing over there so don’t bother asking me.”

  
The watchman jotted something down in a file.

  
“And… When was the last time you saw your brothers?”

  
Treavor narrowed his eyes, “Last week.” He snipped, “I was trying to get them to return to the homestead because surely there are more appropriate places to conduct business meetings.”

  
Treavor crossed his arms with a roll of his eyes, “Of course, my brothers have never been fond of listening…”

  
The watchman nodded slowly, “Do you remember your brothers acting strangely? Nervous perhaps?”

  
Treavor blinked before feigning thought, “Not that I recall…” He said softly as his heart fluttered in his chest, “They were worried about me at most, but that’s normal for them.”

  
The scratch of pen.

  
“Do you have any idea why your brothers would have been worried about you, Lord Pendleton?”

  
Treavor shrugged, “They’re my brothers?” He replied simply, “With the current state of Dunwall and the fact that they have been off at that brothel for the past few months, we haven’t really seen much of one another.”

  
Treavor narrowed his eyes before he looked across the desk to the watchman before him.

  
“Has something… Happened?” He finally asked.

  
Treavor knew… Treavor damn well knew…

  
His brothers were dead.

  
He had had an entire week too come to terms with the fact. To damn himself, damn his brothers, damn the sorry shithole Dunwall had become and of course, damn that bloody Farley Havelock…

  
His brothers were…

  
“What do you mean missing?” Treavor asked slowly.

  
The watchman averted his gaze sheepishly, “As of last week, no one has seen the Lords Pendleton.”  
Treavor’s heart jumped into his throat.

  
“The belongings they brought to the Golden Cat were somewhat packed, but at the moment, both Morgan and Custis Pendleton are considered missing persons.”

  
Treavor pressed a hand to his chest, pressing Custis’ ring against his skin, feeling Morgan’s handkerchief against his neck.  
“H-Has anyone found any… Anything?” He asked slowly, his voice creeping steadily into depravity.

  
This was new, this was different.

  
Treavor wasn’t prepared.

  
The watchman shook his head. “We currently have a party investigating the incident, but at the moment the best lead we have is recent activity with the local gang.”

  
Treavor brought his hands to his face.

  
His brothers were… Missing?

  
“Lord Pendleton.” The watchman began softly, “I understand that this may be hard to hear, but can you think of any reason why someone would want to do harm to your brothers, or perhaps you?”

  
Treavor blinked at that.

  
“We’re not sure if this was a targeted incident.” The watchman explained, “But your brothers were provident politicians, and it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to think that they had made some enemies.”

  
Treavor nodded numbly, “I… I’m not sure.” He admitted softly, though of course he knew damn well.

  
“I doubt anyone from the aristocracy would try something like this.”

  
The watchman nodded empathetically as he waited for Treavor to continue.

  
“An old maid or servant perhaps… But these kinds of attacks cost fortunes…” Treavor murmured his eyes burned.

  
“Has there been word of… Of a ransom note?” Treavor asked quickly as he turned back to the watchman, the man shook his head slowly, “Not that we know of, the guard was only alerted to the situation this morning, unless you received such a letter this past week?”

Treavor swallowed thickly.

  
“I… I haven’t been to the homestead for the past few weeks…” He admitted sheepishly, “I… It was just too big for one person. I’ve been staying in my second apartment and I’ve received no such letters…”

  
The watchman stood at that, quickly jotting some note down on a scrap of paper before walking to the door and yelling for someone down the hall.

  
“Thank you for your time Lord Pendleton.” He replied hastily as he returned to his desk, “I will be assigning extra guards to your home just in case this was intended to be a hit on the family.” Treavor nodded numbly.

  
“In the meantime, I advise you make your way home, there may have been a ransom note deposited at the homestead, I will have some of my men escort you home to search the house.”

  
Treavor hadn’t even considered the thought of returning home.

  
“If there was a note… It will be far too late now…” Treavor murmured delicately.

  
“You mustn’t think that Lord Pendleton.” The watchman said firmly.

  
Treavor simply remained quiet as he stood.

What if.

What if.

What if…

:::

  
The house was oppressing dark…

Treavor never remembered the house, his house, the house he was born and raised in… Ever looking so dark.

  
“Shall I fetch a hand too see if any letters arrived this past week My Lord?” Wallace, oh bless Wallace, asked softly as he gently removed the overcoat Treavor wore.

  
“You needn’t bother.” Treavor snipped primly, “If the hands are smart, they’d have left them in my broth… In the study.” Treavor bit the tip of his tongue; it was no longer Custis’ study…

  
Treavor turned to the four watchmen who had accompanied them, “Kindly wipe your feet.” He said stiffly before turning away again, “The study is this way, follow me if you please, I’m not sure exactly what you are expecting to find.”

  
One of the four watchman began to tail the Nobleman, the other three began to casually mingle about the hall.

“Oh, Wallace!” Treavor called once he reached the second landing, the manservant below turned.

“Would you kindly open the blinds?” Treavor asked as he fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, “This house feels awfully dim.” He muttered before turning down a hall.

Treavor ignored the tightness of his chest as he stalked down the halls, the hands, however many left, had done a miserable job at upkeeping the home in his absence.

A thin layer of dusk coated nearly every available surface, all of the window curtains were closed, and the lights seemed dull.  
It was a far cry from the warm memories Treavor had kept safely tucked at the back of his mind…

“Here we are.” Treavor huffed as he opened the door, walking into the room as he had done so many times before…  
Everything was as Custis had left it.

The dark wood desk was pristine and neat, the few papers left behind stacked neatly in their places, an inkwell, covered because Treavor had made a point to close the damn thing lest it dry out, sat beside an ornate pen.

The chair behind the desk was left at an angle just as Custis preferred so he didn’t have to pull it out every time he wanted to work. The cabinets were as dusty as the halls and the windows were drawn halfway, offering Treavor just enough light to find the light switch.  
A stack of letters sat at the edge of the desk, spilled across the dark wood surface.

  
Treavor scooped them into his palm without hesitation, shuffling through them slowly, reading the brief ‘To:’ and ‘From:’ portions with bated breath…

  
Before handing them to the watchman behind him.

  
“Just letters…” Treavor whispered softly, “No ransom… Just… Letters…”

  
Treavor watched as the guard looked over each letter before he nodded and offered their return, Treavor’s breath stuttered as he swallowed. “H-Have you found anything of substance?” He asked wretchedly, “Anything outside this home?”

  
The watchman opened his mouth before pausing and retreating a step, his mouth closed with an audible click of his teeth.

  
“I don’t believe you will find anything more here…” Treavor hissed as he crumbled the letters in his fists as the first of what was to be many tears fell down his cheek.

  
“Kindly see yourself out… If your captain needs my assistance again, he knows where to find me…”

  
Treavor paced around the desk to open the blinds as the door closed behind him, feet clicked hurriedly down the hall.  
The room appeared a hollow grave, a sick dark coffin even with the added natural light.

  
Custis always kept the curtains open when he was working, claimed it made things easier to read.

  
But the room felt wrong without Custis.

And even worse with the blinds closed.

Treavor opened the blinds again before wrenching them closed, the metal rings caught on one another, the blinds returned to their original position, half closed.

Hot tears rolled down Treavor’s cheeks as he fell to his knees.

The letters in his fists were thrown across the floor behind the desk as Treavor’s hands came to tangle in his hair. His chest heaved with sobs, hideous, hideous sobs.

His brothers weren’t dead?

His brothers were missing?

Treavor had had an entire week to cry and scream and come to terms with the fact that Morgan and Custis were dead. That he would inherit what little remained of his families’ fortune, that he would take over the remaining, squandering family business…

That he would face the rest of his days so impossibly alone…

But now?

His brothers were apparently missing?

With his brothers dead, Treavor could force himself to move on, to get up in the morning, to work, to make a name for himself and never, never allow the memory of his brothers to perish with their bodies...

With Morgan and Custis dead, Treavor need only carry his own guilt…

With Morgan and Custis missing however…

Treavor could only wonder.

Were they alive?

Were Morgan and Custis merely laying low? Perhaps off to the Karnaca summer home, or maybe hunkered down somewhere quiet, waiting out the storm? Would they be smart enough to stay away? Or would they drag themselves home with their prides wounded and their tails tucked?

  
Were they hurt?

  
Treavor couldn’t imagine his brothers escaping that damn brothel scot free, even if the Lord Protector had been merciful his brothers at least deserved some penalty for their crimes. Treavor could only hope that whatever Corvo had put them through would be… Repairable.

Though an itching fear tickled the back of the nobleman’s mind…

Were they… Scared?

  
Morgan and Custis had never cowered before anything. Treavor had always seen them as fearless when he was a lad, and that hadn’t really changed.

  
But Treavor had no idea where his brothers were… Hiding, running, hurt, alone? Together?

  
Treavor had never thought of what his brothers would look like in fear, genuine fear… But the mental images which flashed behind his eyes were horrific in indescribable ways…

  
Were they dead?

  
Treavor’s chest froze.

  
He had spent the previous week grieving his loss only for some bloody watchman to dangle a sliver of hope before him…

  
Missing?

  
Or dead?

  
Missing?

  
Or dead?

  
Treavor choked on a breath as his head came to rest upon the edge of the chair behind the desk, right between where Custis’ thighs would rest.

  
Did it matter? Either way, dead or missing, missing or dead, his brothers weren’t fucking there.

  
Everything felt different and wrong.

  
Custis’ study used to smell heavily of smoke and the deliciously spicy scent of his brother’s cologne, of paper and ink. Comforting smells which would rouse warm memories of the times Treavor spent with Custis in the study.

  
He would run the afternoon letters up to Custis and the occasional cup of coffee, one sugar cube, extra cream, Custis, if not enthralled with his work would thank Treavor with a quick press of lip. If, however, Custis was too enthralled in his work, Treavor would gently remind his brother to not drown himself in letters by careening his fingers through his hair.

  
And if Custis was stressed then Treavor would find himself on his knees, his head between his brother’s thighs with a firm hand at the back of his neck and a warm cock between his lips.

  
Now the study smelled of stale air. Not a hint of smoke or spice or…

  
Anything…

  
“My Lord?”

  
Treavor heaved another sob as Wallace entered the study, pausing for only a brief moment before joining Treavor on his knees. Hands settled at the Lord’s shoulders as Wallace gently pride Treavor from the chair.

  
“I’m here… I’m here…” Wallace breathed softly into Treavor’s hair, not a single murmur of, ‘it’ll be alright’ which Treavor was beyond grateful for. Nothing was alright, nothing would be alright, and Treavor doubted anything would ever be alright again…

  
Treavor clung to Wallace until his tears stained the manservant’s shoulder, until his voice became a low croak at the back of his throat, until it hurt to breathe.

  
“Breathe Treavor…” Wallace murmured as his hands ran over the smaller man’s back, “You need to breathe.”

  
“H-how?” Treavor not quite gasped from his hiding place against Wallace’s shoulder. “T-they may not be dead Wallace!” Treavor panted breathlessly, “They may not be dead, but I have no idea where they could be!”

  
Wallace’s hand came to cradle the back of the Lord’s head as the manservant began to gently rock them back and forth… Back and forth. “You need to calm down…” Wallace soothed gently, tightening his grip upon the smaller man in his arms as Treavor made some move to thrash and spit.

  
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down Wallace!” Treavor seethed, silencing himself only after Wallace slapped him, not hard, never hard, but enough to still his tongue.

  
“Lord Pendleton.” Wallace said simply, “Head of the Pendleton house, from this point onward, in control of the Pendleton mines and the Pendleton parliament seat.” The manservant listed.

  
“I know that the world may seem like it is falling out beneath you Treavor, I really do…” Wallace paused as he leaned Treavor back, away from his chest to look the younger man over.

  
“But loosing your head will not help anyone.” Wallace said firmly.

  
Treavor choked on another sob as he nodded.

  
“I will help you best I can, you know I will…” Wallace soothed as he returned the younger ban to his chest, cradling Treavor close.  
They stayed as they were on the floor until they lost feeling in their toes and the tears ran dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a few more chapters coming up in the next few weeks. 
> 
> Who want a happy ending?
> 
> Who want a sad ending?
> 
> I'm all ears.


	3. Passive-aggressive Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treavor struggles to stand on his own two feet.  
> Emphasis on struggles, he doesn't quite fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Treavor be OOC AF
> 
> Also sassy.

“Oh Treavor…” A gentle voice cooed softly from just behind the nobleman before a hand settled against his lower back, Waverly Boyle circled his right to stand beside him, her palm trailing over the back of his hand as her arm slid into the crux of his elbow, she pressed herself gently to his side.

The two older sisters joined their younger sister alongside the sole Pendleton, each garbed in black mourning lace and veils.

“I heard about what happened, I am so sorry.” Waverly soothed quietly as squeezed Treavor’s hand gently in her own, Treavor offered her a brief though hollow half-smile.

“Thank you for coming…” Treavor sighed heavily, “It… It means a lot.” He murmured quietly.

“How you are feeling?” Lydia asked slowly as her hand gently ran over the length of his arm, shoulder to just above his elbow, “Times such as these can be quite… Stressful.” She concluded carefully as she watched Treavor’s face, the sole Pendleton huffed quietly through his nose before nodding.

“I’ve been… Better.” He admitted softly, “When father passed, it was Morgan and Custis to arrange everything, naturally.” A wry, hollow huff passed Treavor’s lips.

“I’m in way over my head…” He muttered, “And it doesn’t help that this technically isn’t a funeral…”

That brought the three noblewomen to pause.

“Not a… Funeral?” Esma asked slowly as she looked the nobleman before her over, “You are wearing your mourning garments are you not?” She asked.

Treavor sighed and nodded, “It’s… Complicated…” He said quietly as he adverted his eyes, “The watch has failed to find anything… I’ve no bodies to burry.” Treavor replied solemnly.

“This is a somber occasion yes… But do try to think of it more as… Friendly get together I suppose, a memorial service to reminisce over Morgan and Custis…” Treavor pursed his lips sheepishly, “I… I’m not comfortable hosting a funeral without something to burry… You understand, yes?”

The three noblewomen nodded slowly.

Treavor paused to bite his lower lip as wetness gathered at the edges of his eyes. His heartbeat was deafening, and he honestly felt mere moments away from vomiting.

He’d give just shy of anything to be playing speed with Lydia or maybe speaking with Calista, hell, even soft, gentle Cecelia who would so willingly let him cry on her shoulder would be better than the predicament he found himself in.

A gentle hand cupped his cheek as Wavery smeared a tear away with her thumb, Treavor’s breath stuttered as he stepped away from the noblewoman before him, replacing her hand with his own as he muttered a quiet, “Damn it all…”

“I-I’ve been a mess all week.” Treavor murmured helplessly as he pulled a tissue from his pocket, the tears refused to stop falling, “But I-I told myself I wouldn’t cry for this.” He seethed sourly.

A hand slipped into his again as Wavery resettled at his side, she looked up to him sadly as she patted the back of his hand in a comforting gesture, Treavor shuddered a half sigh as he closed his eyes.

“I am so impossibly ill prepared to take over the Pendleton name.” He mumbled quietly, “Everything is a fucking mess and I have no idea how to even begin fixing it…”

Waverly leaned close until her cheek pressed against Treavor’s shoulder, “We’ll be here for you Treavor…” The youngest Boyle sister hummed softly, “If you need advice or someone to talk to… We’ll be here.”

“What I need is…” Treavor bit his lips again, “I need help, so goddamn much help…” He breathed quietly as he shook his head. “I’ve nothing to burry, so all I can hope is that Morgan and Custis are alive… But I can’t just keep waiting for them to come home or turn up dead.” Treavor’s shoulders quaked.

“I was hoping to raise enough money for a more extensive search to be formed.” He kept his eyes adverted as he spoke, his tone soft and shuddered with the sobs he refused, refused to allow past his lip’s warm tears on his cheeks.

It was true that he needed the money, a brief glance through Custis’ meticulously sorted files told him more than enough about the sorry state of their coffers…

“How much money do you need?” Waverly asked softly as she looked up to the nobleman beside her, Treavor shook his head as he glanced back towards the entrance way, “T-there’s a small memory booklet for notes and passing encouragements, beside it is the donation box…”

He offered the youngest Boyle a small, hollow smile, “Just… I can’t ask you for a direct amount, I feel like I’ll wear my welcome at your home by the end of the week.”

That earned Treavor some genuine chuckles as Esma reached a hand out to gently pat him across the back, “We’ll make a Lord out of you yet Treavor.” She chimed before whatever little quip Lydia had prepared was interrupted by a coyly mused.

“So, you’re a Lord now, are you?”

The room seemed to freeze and spin as the air Treavor breathed burned with a chill. Treavor straightened his stance as icy fingers crawled up his spine before he turned to face the speaker. The speaker he knew unfortunately well.

Lord Montgomery Shaw sauntered into the Pendleton estate like he had any damn right; Lady Shaw tucked securely to his side, she was a pretty thing and Treavor pitied her endlessly.

A most inappropriate smirk was seated across Lord Shaw’s lips as he looked about the halls of the estate before pausing a touch too close to the younger lord before him just so he could look down at Treavor over the bridge of his nose.

What a prick.

“Lord Shaw.” Treavor snipped tightly with a frown before turning to the woman on his arm to offer a far gentler, “Lady Shaw, a pleasure as always.” The woman smiled soft and somber, Treavor thought he could see the beginnings of some gentle words atop her tongue before the Lord Shaw began speaking again.

“I’m surprised you’re this despondent over your brother’s passing.” The taller man mused cynically, “After all, it be only luck that death struck them both together, leaving all prestige’s to you.”

The woman on Shaw’s arm looked sickened.

Treavor’s throat tightened; his jaw clenched. The audacity… The callous audacity.

“Tell me Montgomery.” Treavor huffed decisively as he waved down a hand carrying a tray of red wine.

“Did you speak with my brothers before their disappearance?” He asked slowly, keeping his voice prim and even, no matter how desperately he wished to scream and curse the Lord before, then and there.

“Because I fail to recall ever, ever offering you any sort of pardons for that stunt you pulled at the new years gala.” Treavor hissed as he squeezed Waverly’s hand gently before slowly unlacing her arm from his elbow as he began to approach the taller lord. Treavor kept his eyes pinned on the Lord Shaw, he was shorter yes, but authority was all in the eyes Martin had told him.

“And I do remember, and correct me if I am wrong, that my brothers have yet to forgive you either.”

Treavor made it into arms reach of the taller lord before Lord Shaw shuffled back half a pace. A hand came by with the glass of red Treavor had summoned for earlier and he broke eye contact with Lord Shaw to nod his thanks to the man before he disappeared into the crowd once more.

“In fact, as far as I am concerned Lord Shaw, you are still in fact, forbidden, from stepping foot onto the Pendleton estate.” Treavor mused coolly as he turned back to the taller, most evidently infuriated, lord before him as he rolled the wine within the glass. It was a luxurious shade of cerise, carrying with it scents of summer orchards and sweetness.

Treavor would have been tempted to take a sip had he known it would taste of anything but ash.

The taller lord’s cheeks and neck redden with unsaid, ugly words, his lips pulled back into an ugly sneer most unbefitting for the occasion, his fists were clenched. But Lord Montgomery Shaw was speechless.

He knew damn well he was in the wrong, Treavor knew damn well too.

“So.” Treavor chimed lightly with a cocked brow, “Unless you can tell me that you did indeed beg, and I do mean beg, for my brother’s forgiveness and they have indeed pardoned you.” Treavor crossed his arms, being mindful of his glass as he gestured to the space between them.

“I may be so inclined to allow you to get on your knees and beg for _my_ forgiveness.”

Lord Montgomery Shaw bit his tongue behind his clenched teeth as his eyes darted between Treavor’s.

  
“I’m waiting.” Treavor snapped curtly after a too long pause from the taller lord.

  
Lord Shaw lips churned into a deep scowl before he found his foul tongue, “You’d best watch that tongue of yours Treavor.” Montgomery hissed, spitting Treavor’s name like chewing tobacco as he made some move towards the smaller man, abandoning his wife as he did so.

  
“And you best be getting to your knees _Montgomery_.” Treavor snapped in return as he held his ground defiantly.

  
His brothers were (Dead? Missing? Dead? Missing?) Not there, leaving Treavor as the only remaining Pendleton and Outsider damn it!

  
He was so tired of running…

  
“Lest I have the guard escort you to the doors.” Treavor concluded as Montgomery finally stopped some hand width before the younger lord.

  
“You have no right to speak to me in such a manor!” Lord Shaw seethed as he loomed over Treavor’s eyes, looking down to the smaller man over the bridge of his nose.

  
What a fucking prick.

  
“And you have no right to step foot into my home.” Treavor snarled as he jabbed his finger against Lord Shaw’s chest, directly into the gap beneath the intersecting sections of his lowest ribs, forcing the taller lord to stagger back.

  
“Claim my brother’s absence a blessing and my mourning ill fitted for the occasion.” Treavor hissed as he continued to walk the taller lord back before he jerked his head back towards the foyer.

  
“Now then, kindly see yourself out Lord Shaw.” Treavor snipped coolly, waiting only until Montgomery opened his mouth to hiss a retort before he followed up with a sharp, “Preferably before I give you an excuse to leave.”

  
Montgomery scoffed, high and sour and, oh? Was that a hind of embarrassment Treavor could hear? Before he sneered a low, “What do you think you could possibly do to persuade me to leave?” He quipped coolly.

  
Treavor reached out and grasped the taller lord’s tie, yanking it down curtly, surprising Montgomery into compliance.

  
“I can still feel your hands on my wrists.” Treavor murmured softly against Montgomery’s ear as he slowly raised the glass of wine to the taller lord’s chest, keeping it firmly held beneath Montgomery’s chin to keep it from his line of sight.

  
“I am fully prepared to hang all my skeletons Montgomery. Are you? I wonder.”

  
“You wouldn’t dare.” Montgomery snarled quietly as he turned his head ever so slightly to meet Treavor’s eyes.

  
The glass of wine was tipped and spilled between the gap of Lord Shaw’s shirt and chest; the taller man hissed something as he attempted to jerk away from the cold sensation.

  
“Wouldn’t I?” Treavor mused as he released his hold on the taller lord’s shirt.

  
“You son of a bitch!” Montgomery bayed as he staggered back, uselessly pawing at his clothing as the deep red of the wine began to seep through the stark ivory of his shirt.

  
“Go home Lord Shaw.” Treavor hissed coolly as he began to follow the taller lord’s reverse course.

  
“You are a most unwanted mess in my home, I’d like to see you out. _Now_.”

  
“You’re a fucking coward Pendleton!” Montgomery shouted as he continued his backstepping, inching away from Treavor step by step, his wife following dutifully, evidently confused.

  
“You were just as at fault for my so call misdeeds as I was! Y-you don’t have the guts to hang yourself!”

  
Treavor rolled his eyes, “Victim blaming, are you?” He spat, “The only crime I committed that night was perhaps having a bit too much champagne and, as you said, looking quite… Pretty, was it?”

  
The taller lord sputtered where he stood as his eyes darted to the whispering crowd which had accumulated by the doors.

  
“Besides.” Treavor huffed, “I don’t have much left too lose at the moment either way, so I can afford to hang myself.”

  
Treavor paused mock thought before he mused a slow and sure, “Though I do recall that you were quite drunk that night as well.” As he returned the empty wine glass to another passing hand with a nod.

  
“Spiced rum I believe?” Treavor continued coolly, “I could smell it on your breath, you must have had at least a bottle because how else would you have been able to mistake a man for your fiancé?”

  
A choked breath was stuttered from the taller man’s throat as crimson crept up his throat, rage and humiliation churned Lord Shaw’s expression foul, Treavor merely smiled a loose little grin.

  
“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome Lord Shaw.”

  
The surrounding eyes were oppressive, the whispers deafening and Treavor could see the physical impact they had on the taller lord as he staggered back another two, three steps as the small woman grabbed Montgomery’s arm by the elbow, she desperately tugged her husband away, tears slipped down her cheek’s, but Treavor could tell she was as furious as she was ashamed.

  
Lord Shaw relented after his wife hissed something, vile and bitter into his ear.

  
“And do feel free to leave something kind in the guest book!” Treavor called after the two, the slamming of the front door was the only answer he received.

  
Treavor stood tall and sighed through his nose before he turned back to the assorted crowd of aristocrats behind him, he nodded to Wallace. Dear, dear Wallace who stood at the back of the room.

  
Waverly slowly approached, expression stoic, eyes glistening. They had grown apart over the years but the domestic affections they held for one another during their youth never wavered.

  
Treavor offered his arm with a questioning expression as the youngest Boyle returned to his side with silent grace, Waverly looped her arm around the crux of his elbow, offering him a mere, “I find myself quite parched Lord Pendleton.”

  
The chatter soon returned to the halls as Treavor silently lead the youngest Boyle sister through the thicket of the crowd and towards one of the smaller bars the Pendleton estate had to offer.

  
:

  
“They’ll be speaking of you for weeks.” Waverly said coolly as she took the glass of white Treavor had poured her, a vintage year which had been squirrelled away in the wine cellar for who knows how long.

  
“Oh, most definitely.” Treavor agreed with a sigh as he corked the bottle, ignoring the look of almost surprise which flickered across Waverly’s expression.

  
“Lucky for me however, being a victim of that sort of thing rarely results in repercussions.” A tepid smirk tugged at Treavor’s lips.  
“Lord Shaw on the other hand… Well, I would most certainly hate to be in his place these next few weeks.” Wavery actually huffed, a light, airy, amused sort of laugh at that.

  
“No, I can’t imagine anyone would…” She mused before a thoughtful sort of look passed over her expression, the youngest Boyle then turned to Treavor, regarding him quizzically as she chose her words carefully.

  
“Why did you decide to… Do that?” She asked softly after a not quite lengthy pause.

  
Treavor merely shrugged, he had a plethora of reasons, but the simplest seemed most appropriate.

  
“My brothers found me in the aftermaths of Montgomery’s ‘fun’” Treavor made sure to spit the word. “They patched me up and assured me that… Nothing of the sort would ever occur again…”

  
Treavor swallowed thickly as real emotion swelled in his chest.

  
He remembered the night with sick fondness. The pain, the fear the worry. The way Custis and Morgan had held him so close, kissed him sweetly, murmured soft promises into his skin… Made the hurt go away.

  
His hand found the ring and handkerchief beneath his suite.

  
“Morgan beat Lord Shaw black, blue and bloody in the middle of the drive, made sure that the bastard knew he was not welcome at the Pendleton estate indefinitely…” Treavor shook his head slowly.

  
“They couldn’t protect me everywhere and they knew that… But they tried their damn well best.” A fragile little huff of laugh which bordered dangerously close to a sob passed Treavor’s lips.

  
“They even went as far as to check hunting party guest lists and keeping themselves between me and Lord Shaw in parliament…” Treavor paused to breathe as sour bile churned at the back of his throat.

  
“And then tonight… Who shows up?” Treavor scoffed something foul, “As soon as something happens to my brothers, Montgomery sees himself exulted of his transgressions and welcomes himself into my home…”

  
Waverly patted his wrist; it was only then that Treavor realized just how tightly he had been holding her hand…

  
He never even noticed Waverly had taken his hand…

  
“Sorry…” He mumbled sheepishly, Waverly offer a small, sad smile and said nothing more.

  
“Y-you shouldn’t have to see me like this…” Treavor sighed, “I-I should be more put together then I am. I… It’s most unbefitting of a lord, isn’t it?”

  
“You’re grieving Treavor.” Wavery murmured softly as she brought her handkerchief to his cheeks, “You’re grieving, and no one can judge you for that.”

  
Treavor huffed and nodded, “Someone told me that once…” He whispered quietly. “It’s solid advice.” Waverly mused, “Keep it in mind, won’t you?” The youngest Boyle suggested lightly as she ran a hand through Treavor’s hair.

  
“You’re not alone you know.” She said firmly, “No matter how lonely you make yourself, you’re not alone…”

  
Treavor blinked at that.

  
“They’re… Morgan and Custis are gone now…” Treavor murmured softly, “They’re gone… And I am alone.” He said firmly.

  
Waverly shook her head, “You are not alone Treavor.” she said sternly, “You have me and my sisters… And I am sure there are many people who would be more than willing to help you.”

  
Treavor shook his head, “Morgan and Custis are gone… They won’t be fighting my battles for me anymore and I can’t expect you or your sisters to fight for me at every turn…”

  
Waverly pursed her lips thoughtfully as Treavor looked to her, his expression soft, resolved and impossibly tired.

  
“I need to start helping myself Waverly…” Treavor mused softly, “I need to start doing things alone.”

  
Before Waverly could respond the bar door opened. Wallace entered with a single glass in hand. “Treavor, Lady Boyle.” The manservant said primly as he offered Treavor the glass of water.

  
Treavor offered Wallace a sheepish smile as he mumbled a quiet, ‘thank you Wallace’ before he took the glass, sipping the water gingerly to dampen his dry throat.

  
“The Lord Regent is here to see you.”

  
Treavor choked.

  
:

  
“Lord Pendleton.” The Lord Regent addressed calmly from the seat he had claimed at Custis’ desk… The desk, Treavor corrected himself. “Lord Regent.” Treavor responded with a small nod, “I wasn’t expecting the Lord Regent to have time for a eulogy, is there something you needed?”

  
The Lord Regent, the fucking Lord Regent, smiled sadly and shook his head, “Hardly Treavor, may I call you Treavor?” He asked as an afterthought.

  
“That depends.” Treavor mused as he hesitantly slid into Custis’ chair behind the desk… The chair, “Is this a social meeting or a formal?” The Lord Regent looked across the desk to the younger man, his brow cocked as if he were daring a child to step one more toe out of line.

  
Treavor held the gaze.

  
“The late Lords Pendleton were close allies to the crown of Dunwall Treavor.” The Lord Regent explained calmly, “The loss of Custis and Morgan Pendleton will be felt greatly across all of Dunwall, but nowhere nearly as much as parliament-”

  
“And home.” Treavor snipped curtly, stilling the Lord Regent’s tongue.

  
“The loss of my brothers will be felt nowhere nearly as much as our… My home.” Treavor corrected coolly.

  
The Lord Regent nodded slowly, “Of course Treavor.” He offered tightly, “Forgive my choice of words, they were ill fit.” Treavor’s silence spoke volumes.

“Regardless.” The Lord Regent huffed, “I have a proposition for you.” He said, his voice not nearly chipper enough to chime but too heated to be considered cold.

  
“So, this is a formal conversation?” Treavor mused calmly, the Lord Regent sighed, “Oh, come now Tre-” “Lord Pendleton.” Treavor snapped as he folded his arms across his chest, “If you would, Lord Regent.”

  
The Lord Regent narrowed his eyes as he nodded before he gritted out a low, “I have a proposition for you, Lord Pendleton.”

  
“I take it it’s the same proposition you gave my brothers?” Treavor mused coolly, stifling the snicker that tickled the back of his tongue at the look the Lord Regent gave him.

  
“Custis and Morgan were businessmen Lord Regent” Treavor reminded curtly, “They were meticulous when it came to their files.” He mused as he gestured to the various filing cabinets pressed against the walls of the office.

  
“If that was the proposition you had in mind for me, I will have to decline.” Treavor said primly, “The disappearance of my brothers, best the watch can gather thus far, was politically motivated and I’ve no intention to fall down whatever rabbit hole Morgan and Custis found themselves in.”

  
Treavor met the Lord Regent’s eyes as he stood, “Surely you understand my position.” He mused coolly as he rounded the desk, gesturing for the Lord Regent to stand as he passed by.

  
“Now, I am sure I’ve wasted enough of your time Lord Regent, I trust you can find your way to the door?” Treavor mused as he opened the study door.

  
:::

  
“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.” Treavor sighed as he pulled out the chair on the opposite side of Custis’ desk… He couldn’t quite yet call the office his own, hell, he could hardly even bring himself to sit in the chair behind the desk.

  
The man, Treavor had seen and technically met before, Bunting was his name, Treavor never remembered learning his first name, nor was he too interested in it.

  
“I understand that you were my brother’s financial advisor?” Treavor asked calmly as he watched Bunting settle into the chair and set his suitcase on the floor before retrieving a thick stack of papers.

  
“Financial assistant more like.” Bunting replied with a saccharine light tone, “Your brother was a genius in his own right, I was mostly here to sort papers and give my financial opinion.”

  
A somber expression was directed at Treavor, “The loss of your brothers was surely a tragedy, they will be sorely missed I can assure you that.” Treavor nodded stiffly before he too quickly turned his attention back to the paper Bunting had set on the desk.

  
“I-I looked over the paperwork in Custis’ files, apparently he charged you with estimating the inheritance.” Treavor said quickly as he turned away to busy himself with one of the filing cabinets pressed against the wall.

  
“He did…” Bunting replied slowly as he sifted through the papers before him. His tone was both apologetic whilst being completely unrepentant, a liar’s lisp, Morgan would say said.

  
“Well, pardon my impatience but I have just had the worst three weeks of my life.” Treavor huffed as he set his own file down beside Bunting’s, “Please tell me you have some good news…”

  
There was a pause as Treavor watched the man before him contemplate his next words. Carefully.

  
“I wish I did Lord Pendleton…” Bunting finally admitted as he set three sheets of paper aside, pointing to each as he spoke, “But I’ve done all the calculations, dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’…” The man shook his head, “I recon if you’re careful, you can live off what you have left for the year. But between the mines and your inheritance, bankruptcy may be a viable option.”

  
Treavor moved to stand over Bunting’s shoulder to look over the pages he had set aside…

  
Treavor hated math, truly he did, but he at least understood its importance and how all of the equations worked. And as much as Treavor loathed to admit it, he was rather good at math.

  
But that didn’t mean he liked doing it.

  
All that aside, with a simple glance Treavor could tell that the calculations were off, horribly off.

  
“Shit…” Treavor muttered under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair. He knew something was wrong… He knew that Bunting had been lying, but this? This was a blatant scam.

  
A scam that had not only slipped right beneath both Custis and Morgan’s noses but damn well nearly crawled up their asses.

  
“I am terribly sorry Lord Pendleton.” Bunting said calmly as he watched the younger nobleman begin to pace about the room.

  
“How could they keep this from me?” Treavor seethed as false fury fluttered in his chest as ferociously as a butterfly beat its wings within a glass jar. His brothers had always ensured that he had the very best and finest, had always assured him that everything was fine… He had never any reason to doubt his brothers.

But this proved otherwise.

  
“A-And you said something about the mines?” Treavor huffed as he turned on his heels to face the man still seated.

  
Bunting nodded again, “The silver mines have been on a steady decline for the past few years, at this point it’s a money sink at best.” Bunting shook his head to cover the twitch of his lips as he stifled a smile.

  
“I’ve told your brother before that the silver mines are just no longer an investible endeavor, but he was firm on it.” He shook his head, “I advised him to begin investing in other ventures, but he wouldn’t have it.”

  
Treavor scowled, as much as he hated to speak ill of his brothers in their absence, they, for whatever reason, had left him in a rather dour situation, financially at least.

  
“And now I’ve no money worth investing…” Treavor muttered coolly as he leaned over the desk, “Damn it all…” He muttered coarsely.  
“There are some options.” Bunting mused calmly, “I understand that the Pendleton’s have some other properties, desired properties if I am not mistaken. Perhaps you could sell one of them for some extra pocket coin?” He suggested casually.

  
“Would it make a difference?” Treavor hissed, “You surely must have an idea how long an estate purchase can take? By the time any coin returns to me I’ll be on the streets!”

  
Treavor shook his head, “Just think of something kind to say at my funeral Bunting, I’ll be starved by the end of the year…”

  
“You mustn’t think that Lord Pendleton.” Bunting said calmly, “You have options, options you need to consider…”

  
Papers ruffled behind Treavor’s back as the man began to gather is things, “I understand you’ll be attending the Boyle families’ masquerade? Do try to find me then…”

  
Treavor heaved a sigh and nodded.

  
“I… Yes… Yes, I’ll see you then… Just… Just leave your calculations here if you would, I need… I need to think on this” Treavor said slowly, the rustling of papers paused.

  
“Of course, Lord Pendleton.” Bunting said calmly before he moved towards the door, allowing the pages to settle against the desk once more before the door to the study closed with a click.

  
It took thirty seconds after Bunting left for Wallace to arrive. Treavor was leaned over the desk, scribbling math equations furiously on a blank sheet of paper.

  
“Get in. close the door.” Treavor snapped without looking up from his work before Wallace could utter a single word. The two men stood in silence, save for the scratch of the pen on paper as Treavor carried about his task.

  
Wallace remained where he was by the door until Treavor stepped away from the desk and the paper he had been so irately writing on. “Check it over.” Treavor heaved as he began to pace about the confines of the room.

  
“Tell me if I’ve missed anything, anything Wallace!” The nobleman hissed, Wallace knew his lord wasn’t upset with him, he was just the closest living thing that would listen.

  
Still, he peered down to the long, sprawling calculations. Wallace was a manservant, Treavor insisted he was anything but ‘just a manservant’, oh no, Wallace was too special, too loyal to be ‘just a manservant’.

  
But that didn’t mean Wallace had any real education in anything but being a manservant, he could do basic maths and sciences, but he had been trained as a hand since a young age.

  
“I’m afraid I may not be of much use to you my Lord.” Wallace admitted after a few minutes, once the equations delved beyond simple addition and subtraction.

  
Treavor huffed sourly and shook his head, his breath was labored as he forced his heart to settle, “I-It’s alright Wallace…” Treavor sighed as he too quickly returned to the manservant’s side, kicking up a breeze in the still room as the coattail of his jacket licked one of Bunting’s pages onto the floor.

  
“Oh, Damn it all!” Treavor snarled as he stalked after the slip of paper which had slipped beneath the low cabinet Custis used for storing spare supplies.

  
Wallace was tempted to intervene, it was most unfitting for a lord to get on his hands and knees as Treavor was, but the manservant knew that his lord was irritated and needed something constructive to do, and if reaching for a slip of paper beneath some dusty shelf was constructive, then so be it.

  
Treavor paused before slowly retracting his arm from beneath the cabinet, Wallace watched as his lord sat back on his feet, paper tore and unfurled…

  
And then Treavor froze…

  
Wallace had seen his lord freeze before, his chest would still and not even the most subtle hints of breath would disturb the impossible immobility. It reminded Wallace heavily of a deer who had caught sight of the barrel of a hunter’s gun…

  
“My Lord?” Wallace pressed gently as he approached the nobleman’s side, peering over the smaller man’s shoulder to see another letter seated on Treavor’s lap.

  
“Treavor?” Wallace tried again as his hand found his lord’s shoulder. Treavor jerked away, splotches of wetness appeared on the paper before the softest, most heartbroken yet so very, very relieved words passed the lords lips.

  
“They’re alive…”

  
Very slowly, as if it were the most delicate, most treasured thing Treavor could ever grasp, he offered the paper to Wallace.

“Outsider’ eyes… They’re alive…”

It was a letter from the resident administrator of the Pendleton silver mines, a man by the name of Trudish Sorbin, the letter detailed the acquisition of two new mine workers.

_“Twins by the look of it.”_

The letter stated.

_“Tongueless and shaved by the time they arrived. They got some real fire in their spirits, snapping their jaws and spitting at anyone who gets too close. They’ll be put to work once they learn their place.”_

  
There was more to the letter, but Wallace had seen enough.

  
Treavor was crying again, weeping pitifully as he paced about the room, wringing his wrists as he walked, stopping abruptly to gather the pages Bunting had left on the table as well as his own work.

  
“Go- go fetch that box in the attic Wallace.” Treavor stammered, “You know the one. Meet me by the front door, we’re returning to the Hounds Pit.”

  
Wallace nodded, watching as his lord all but sprinted down the hall.

  
:::

  
“Piero? Have you a moment?” Treavor asked as he strolled into the garage turned lab which had become Piero’s domain, said man was looking over some blueprints sprawled across a tabletop before he looked up.

  
“Ah, Lord Pendleton.” He replied in a not quite stammer but certainly nervous way, “I suppose I have a few minutes to spare, is there something you need?”

  
Treavor nodded slowly as he came to pause a pace or so away from the smaller man before he offered the inventor Bunting’s and his own calculations.

  
“I spoke with my brother’s advisor this morning.” Treavor stated simply as Piero began looking over the work, “I knew something was off with his work, but I’ve no real head for math either.”

  
Piero nodded absentmindedly before he shoved the blueprints, he had been looking over aside to set the pages down on the table. Treavor waited patiently as the man scribbled atop Bunting’s work with a pencil, muttering to himself as he did so.

  
“Pardon me Lord Pendleton, I know it’s terribly rude to speak ill of the dead, but for a supposed business genius, your brother was an absolute moron.” Piero finally muttered as he returned Bunting’s work.

  
Treavor stared at the paper for a good while, following the pencil marks carefully before slowly looking at the smaller man, “Are… These accurate?” He finally asked.

  
Piero nodded stiffly, “That man, Bunting, is hardly qualified to be a financial advisor if that is his work.” The smaller man tapped the top of the page Treavor held firmly.

  
“Numbers never lie Lord Pendleton, only equations and people stupid enough to try and twist results.” Piero shook his head, “I don’t really understand business, but I know numbers. Whatever Bunting was attempting to pull was clearly an attempt to cheat you out of a great deal.”

  
Treavor sighed heavily as he looked to the final result Piero had come to. “So… The inheritance isn’t junk?” The inventor actually scoffed at that, “Hardly Lord Pendleton.” He snipped, “Bunting perhaps, but not that.”

  
Treavor nodded slowly, “I… Thank you Piero.” He finally managed one his head stopped spinning, “You’ve saved me from a rather large headache, would… Would you be opposed to me coming to you again?”

  
The smaller man blinked owlishly before he nodded, “If I have spare time, I’d be happy to help.”

  
“Of course, of course.” Treavor replied quickly as he lifted the papers, “Once I get this sorted with the bank I’ll be inclined to begin paying for your services.” Piero seemed intrigued by the prospect before his attention diverted to something behind Treavor.

  
“Ah, Corvo, back from Kaldwin Bridge?” Piero chimed lightly as the Lord Protector stepped into the inventor’s lab, his mask removed, Treavor hid his shudder regardless, Corvo was an intimidating figure with or without the damn thing.

  
“I take it the mission was successful?” Piero asked as he returned the blueprints he had been looking over to the center of the table, “Terribly sorry to say, I was distracted while you were out, I can have the new eye scope done within the hour if you have patience, however all my other wares are at your disposal.”

  
Corvo nodded once before setting a new heap of rolled blueprints at the edge of the already cluttered table, as well as some bits of scrap metal and some coin.

  
Treavor moved to stand by the door, waiting until the Lord Protector was done with his business before he approached, slowly cautiously. “Corvo.” He said simply, not quite flinching back as the Lord Protector turned him, “A… A word if you will?” He asked quietly before gesturing Corvo to follow.

  
:

  
“I never really thanked you for your services to the cause.” Treavor began quietly once they were out of earshot, “Especially concerning the removal of my… My brothers…” Treavor pursed his lips and swallowed.

  
“I understand that they needed to be removed… I was greatly upset by it and I apologise for my behavior regarding your actions, I asked you to spare them if I could get them out of Dunwall and I failed, that was my fault…”

  
Treavor smiled hollowly as he retrieved the small box he had asked Wallace to fetch from the attic.

  
“But recently I’ve had news from the silver mines regarding the acquisition of two new workers… Twins…” Treavor’s breath stuttered, “I’ve no idea how you did it… But my brothers are alive, and I have no way to ever repay you.”

  
Treavor simply offered the Lord Protector the box he held, “My brothers and I used to collect things we’d find of the beach down by our summer home in Karnaca… We found these some years ago, but I recognise that mark on your hand.”

  
The Lord Protector opened the box and paused, “I take it you know what these are?” Treavor asked softly, Corvo nodded slowly. “Ah, good… Please, do what you will with them, they stopped singing to me years ago.”

  
Corvo closed the box before tucking it into his jacket.

  
“And Corvo?” Treavor asked as the Lord Protector began to turn away, “Once this is all over… I intend to drag my brothers’ home.”

  
Corvo offered Treavor a rare smile before he turned to look up the tower where the familiar figure of the young empress stood, smiling and waving down at her Lord Protector.

  
Corvo returned the gesture before nodding to Treavor once more as he jogged off to the tower.

  
Treavor set off to find Wallace.

  
They had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have noticed some changes to character relevance.  
> I couldn't understand why the Pendletwins would ask anyone else to estimate their inheritance, they're business boys right? They could have done it themselves, but they didn't so I made Bunting a financial adviser/art dealer.  
> Treavor said at one point he was 'friends' with Burrows so you can't tell me that Burrows didn't try to loop Treavor onto his side.  
> Waverly and Treavor were childhood friends and instead of turning Waverly and her sisters into the three cunt-a-teers, I just made it so that their interests drifted, they're still friends but their the kind of friends who would take a month to respond to a text message, if they ever meet in public however, oof, they'll be cat talking for fucking hours.  
> I made Treavor hate math because I needed a better excuse for him to start talking to Piero, Piero is a smart boy. I like Piero.  
> And of course we stan with Wallace.
> 
> Montgomery however. Fuck Montgomery. 
> 
> Got like... 3 or 4 more chapters in line.
> 
> Yay?


	4. Sassive-aggressive Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sass, money and remembering all those times Morgan and Custis dicked him down good makes Treavor a... Something, but at least he's still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how inheritances work, or auctions...  
> I just want my garbage child to be happy alright?

There was a brewing issue at the Hounds Pit Pub…

  
Apparently, Treavor’s ‘little stunt’ with his brothers and the fact that the Lord Regent directly came to him for support, had roused a nasty bout of paranoia in old admiral, which turned the already bitter man borderline insufferable.

  
The current tensions between Treavor and Havelock, which at this point could easily be cut with a knife, were consequently putting everyone else on edge.

  
The admiral seemed convinced that Treavor would turn coat given his first opportunity, which, if considering the Lord Regent’s proposal to be an opportunity, was already disproved by, again, Treavor turning down the Lord Regent.

  
And no, this was not Treavor’s own awakened suspicion putting thoughts into his head, that was what Cecelia told him shortly after she all but dragged the nobleman up into the servants quarters one afternoon after Treavor returned from parliament.

  
She told him soft and sweet and nervously that the admiral was in a foul mood, “He was saying some rather nasty things about you.” She mumbled quietly, “I couldn’t understand half of it, but Lydia looked just about ready to beat him with the broom.”

  
Of course, the old admiral would never speak out against the lord to his face, after all, between them all, save Callista and perhaps Corvo, that man always seemed to return from missions with heavy pockets, he had the most money to spend on their cause, and Havelock knew that…

  
So, the admiral resorted to dirty, lingering looks and the occasional sneer but little else.

  
The Hounds Pub Pit had taken on an anxious atmosphere which seemed to bleed into everybody’s bones, tensions were high, and the residences of the pit seemed more prone to bare their teeth at one another.

  
Cecelia, gentle, sweet Cecelia had even snapped at Wallace when he accidentally kicked the pail she had been using to mop the floors with, the bucket didn’t fall or anything, some water merely jumped the rim.

  
It began to feel as though one wrong word or step could earn Treavor a bullet to the back or a knife in his throat.

  
Besides the simmering vat of aggression slowly rolling to a boil at the Hounds Pit, things were looking… Perhaps not brighter, but certainly better, for Treavor at least.

  
The very fact that his brothers were alive, (Most likely not well if that bloody letter was anything to go by, but alive!) Was both cause for much worry… And much relief.

  
Treavor, no matter what Martin said, could not help but feel a certain weight of guilt, of responsibility for the situation his brothers found themselves in.

  
Yes, they had made their own bed, yes, there was shit on the sheets… No, his brothers had not heeded his warnings…  
But surely, Treavor couldn’t be blameless?

  
Surely, he could have tried harder? Done better? Done more?

  
Regardless, once everything was sorted and young Emily returned to her rightful throne, Treavor would retrieve his brothers, dead or alive, (Oh please be alive..) From those accursed mines, bring them home, clean them up and…

  
He knew things would never be the same, could never be the same…

  
But Morgan and Custis would be home… And that would be enough…

  
That would be enough.

  
:

  
Parliament was never something Treavor particularly enjoyed even with his brothers at his sides, Morgan and Custis insisted that Treavor join them for legislature meetings at least once a month, if not for appearances or to ensure he had a firm grasp of the goings on in Dunwall, Then for the dark corners and empty offices of the senate.

  
They would press him against the walls of quiet shaded corners, sometimes drag him to his knees or pin him down across a desk or table in some abandoned office.

  
They would take him quickly, with just enough regard for his well being to slicken and spread him open on their fingers, Treavor would sigh and squeal and beg but often they would leave him unsatisfied and flustered no matter how pretty he looked splayed around their pricks.

  
Morgan and Custis would satiate themselves within Treavor, leaving his throat pleasantly sore, stomach warm and thighs sloppy with seed, they would fondle and tease him all the way home with their hands and lips before taking pity and fucking him fairly across their bed.

  
Treavor honestly doubted he would ever enjoy those meetings, the parliament meetings mind you, especially without his brothers.

  
Where before, Custis and Morgan, specifically Custis as he was the older twin and therefore head of the Pendleton family, would be the ones to initiate council quarrels and take the prodding and jabs the other politicians spat.

  
Treavor now stood alone in a room full of snakes, with too many fangs, ready to strike and bite and slide a knife between his ribs at any given notice…

  
Treavor may have hated the legislative meeting his brothers used to drag him too, but he couldn’t help but be grateful. The years of sitting in the back, in the protective shadows of his brothers, gave Treavor a very nice opportunity to silently pick apart the opposition from the sidelines.

  
And now without Custis or Morgan to stand over him, the sly retorts of his fellow aristocrats were aimed at him, and there were many sneers directed towards his competency.

  
“Should we really trust a drunkard’s opinion on such matters?”

  
“He can hardly take care of himself; how do we expect him to run a household?”

  
“Such a coward, always running and hiding behind the late Lords Pendleton, I wonder who he’ll hide behind without his brothers here to protect him.”

  
Luckily Treavor found himself wonderfully prepared to snap and snarl back with his own fangs.

  
“We’re all trusting you right now aren’t we Lord Marshhill? Don’t think I don’t see that flask in your pocket.”

  
“I find it strange that you concern yourself over the happenings of my home Lady Peacroft. But if we’re being nosey today then tell me, how is that nephew of yours? Basil I believe? The one who’s been chewing habber weed, does he still have all his teeth?”

  
“If you must know, I’ve given up running, though personally I’d advise you give it a try Lord Timsh, it would be good to see you out of your maids room from time to time.”

  
Treavor found himself thoroughly enjoying dragging certain members of parliament through the metaphorical mud.

  
And the progress he made for the conspiracy was at least enough to get Havelock to back off, which was nice too.

  
:::

  
The weightlessness of financial freedom was lovely.

  
As soon as Piero had confirmed that yes, Bunting is full of shit, no, your inheritance is not worthless, yes you can most definitely cash it in.

  
Treavor did so.

  
He brought all necessary paperwork to the bank of Dunwall, and explained simply, in layman's terms, no sugar, his situation. The back managerial who sat with him looked over Buntings work and grimaced.

  
Dallto Vibrosco, the bank managerial, a man from eastern Tyvia, immediately began going over all the equations himself before coming to the same conclusion Piero had.

  
He then recommended that Treavor take legal action against Bunting.

  
“This is blatant fraudulence Lord Pendleton.” He said gruffly, “And if you say that your brothers have been taking this man’s word for years, then I highly doubt this is his first offence.”

  
Mr. Vibrosco then wrote an address and a name on a slip of paper before handing it to Treavor, “This here is a lawyer friend of mine, she deals with these sorts of situations quite nicely.” He said simply.

  
“Now if you do decide to take legal action, I suggest you sort out all your papers before you go see her, Mrs. Vare will want to see any evidence upfront, so any records of Buntings works you can find, you get in order.”

  
Mr. Vibrosco stood, “Now then, let’s see you get that inheritance of yours.”

  
Treavor left the bank with his head held high and what he thought mere weeks ago to be an impossible weight, lifted from his shoulders.  
A year at most, Bunting had told him, if he was careful.

  
How about three generations at least?

  
The Pendleton coffers were filled once more, and Treavor dead intended to keep them that way…

  
But what was more than financial stability?

  
Treavor now not only had the means to finally begin thinking of how he was to fix the whole mess his world had become.

  
He could start taking steps towards fixing it…

  
But first things first.

  
He had some spring cleaning to do.

  
:

  
The Pendleton estate was just as dark and drab as Treavor had left it, even with all of the window curtains thrown wide open and a new swarm of freshly hired hands buzzing about cleaning… The house appeared hollow and dull.

  
Treavor made a mental note to rectify that as soon as he could.

  
The basement and cellar of the Pendleton estate was even more so, disgustingly so. Inch thick layers of dust and an ungodly number of cobwebs clung to every surface.

  
He’d compensate whichever hand ended up with cleaning the basement.

  
He’d also have to think of a way to apologise to poor Wallace for sending him down into the cellar so many times for so many years.

  
Still, Treavor braved the darkness along with Wallace, who, bless him, made an effort to swat away each cobweb he could as they delved deeper into the gloom.

  
“Here we are.” Wallace finally huffed through the collar of his shirt which he had pulled up to cover his mouth and nose from the circulating dust, Treavor copied as best he could with his sleeve.

  
The Pendleton wine cellar was a literal treasure trove of ancient vintages worth far more than most of their kind. Each bottle lay in its rack, undisturbed and caked with dust.

  
Wallace lit a lamp because of course the overhead light had long since burned out, while Treavor busied himself with the catalog of whatever wines, bourbons, rums or whiskeys resided and where.

  
The driving itch to drink had long since faded from the back of Treavor’s throat which he was most certainly grateful for, looking over the past year’s expenses, he was honestly surprised with just how lenient his brothers were towards his alcohol purchases.

  
He wasn’t as bad as the silver mines… But he was certainly bad.

  
Treavor intended to change that.

  
Treavor needed to change that.

  
At first, he thought to break or burn every bottle in the whole damn cellar, get rid of it all and leave a fresh, clean slate to start from…  
But as he stood there in the dingy, musty, dusty wine cellar, looking over the inventory catalog…

  
Well, the Pendleton’s were known for their silver mines but with the new ideas worming their way into Treavor’s head, they’d soon be known for their ‘wine mines’

  
:

  
It took the rest of the week for Treavor to catalog the entirety of the Pendleton’s wine and liquor collection, that was three wine cellars and just shy of nearly six hundred bottles of alcohol.

  
Honest to the abbey, the exact amount of alcohol Treavor, Wallace and whatever other hands had been roped into helping, had dragged up into some old guest room, could have easily been considered a fire hazard.

  
Regardless, the bottles were brought from the darkest pits of the cellar and into the light where they were relabelled accordingly and their prices estimated by a wine connoisseur Treavor had met some years ago on a wine tasting tour of Tyvia his brothers had seen fit to take him on for his birthday.

  
Treavor, looking, back couldn’t recall much of the trip other then how beautiful Tyvia was in winter, the rich colors of the wines in his glass and just how willing his brothers were to indulge themselves whenever they returned to their room.

  
Treavor could hold his liquor quite well, so he couldn’t call it drunk sex, a tipsy fuck at best. His brothers would splay him across the bed whichever way they saw fit and take what was theirs.

  
Some nights they would hold him close, touch him gently with their hands and lips and tongues, coo and whisper affections into his ears, they would rock into him gently as he sobbed their names, enticing them to hurry which they never would.

  
“Isn’t this nice Treavor?” He recalled Morgan whispering against his shoulder as he rolled his hips shallowly against Treavor’s, sinking inside the youngest brother slowly, Treavor could feel the purred rumble of his brother’s chest as his muscles unconsciously fluttered around the cock.

  
His own prick hung between his legs, still drooling seed from his most recent release, he was tired and pleasantly sore and if he could throw in the towel and simply fall asleep then and there he would happily do so. But the way Morgan’s cock fit inside him so perfectly had his toes curling in delight.

  
His voice was soft and slurred as he murmured a beseeched, “Please…” Accompanied by a teasing roll of his hips against the body behind him. Morgan hummed something light against Treavor’s throat as one of his hands released Treavor’s.

  
The younger twin slowly maneuvered Treavor until he was kneeling down on his elbows before he took hold of Treavor’s wrists in a single hand. Soon after, a seed slicked palm began to teasingly paw at Treavor’s sensitive prick, drawing a choked little noise of disguised delight from the younger brother while Morgan continued to slink into Treavor undeterred by the previous request.

  
Once they were satisfied with their sins, Morgan and Custis would curl around their baby brother and nestle down with a blissfully exhausted Treavor.

  
Other nights they would pin him down with their hands and rut into him like beasts, panting heavily above him as they laid claiming bites along his shoulders and neck, leaving bloody rows of teeth as they used him so wonderfully and reduce him to a warm thing to fuck and fill and fuck and fill.

  
And he would oh so dutifully let them.

  
Custis was rarely as rough as Morgan, but he certainly had his moments. The elder twin would bite and suckle at Treavor’s throat and ears and shoulders and chest, and wherever else he could, leaving a beautiful collection of reddened rings and purple blossoms in his wake, which he would then lave with his tongue while his hands bruised Treavor’s waist.

  
The bed would creak and groan beneath them as Custis’ hips fucked into his younger brother, hard and fast and perfect. Treavor would writhe and arch beneath his brother, sob and scream as his prick would bounce atop his stomach, smearing his spend about his belly as Custis rocked against him and kissed his breathless.

  
Treavor’s favorite part of the trip however was, or at least the parts he best remembered, the soft rounds of lazy morning, ‘I’m not hungover, I just have a headache.’ Sex that Treavor would often wake to as both Custis and Morgan would take him apart slowly, with their lips and tongues and gentle teasing touches until they had him crying for them...

  
The wine connoisseur offered to purchase some of the bottles directly from Treavor, and for his service, Treavor allowed the man to purchase two bottles upfront before he invited the connoisseur to the upcoming wine auction he was hosting in the following week.

  
Treavor sold the rest of the wine, liquor and whatever other flammable beverages he could find in those musty wine cellar to the highest bidder, he invited most of the estate district to the auction, with a few exemptions, obviously.

  
The rest of the aristocracy had a good laugh about the occasion, both in jest and bemusement. Bunting had been slipping just enough context regarding the silver mines into his conversations to allow the rest to come up with their own ideas.

  
Treavor let them.

  
After all, it wasn’t as if he had told anyone about his newly acquired inheritance.

  
Vintage wines and well aged liquors always fetched a good price no matter the opinions of the crowd, but the ancient vintages Treavor was offering started several shouting matches between long time friends, and nearly caused some family feuds within even the closest of in-laws.

  
The wine connoisseur was a well-honed auctioneer, shouting to the crowd, raising the prices far beyond his original estimates and, had he needed the money, the small fortune Treavor accumulated from the auction certainly would have helped soothe the ache in his wallet.  
Treavor kept only six bottles.

  
A bottle of stiff whiskey, far older than himself, which Custis would have surely enjoyed sipping on a stressful day.

  
A fine bottle of bourbon Morgan would have found most delightful.

  
A tall bottle of sweet liquor he could recall tasting on his brother’s tongues some birthday years ago.

  
A very nice bottle of iced wine for himself, if he could ever bring himself to drink it…

  
A Gristolian scotch for Wallace which the man excepted graciously.

  
And finally, the finest bottle of a very old, well aged red which would have surely cost a fortune.

  
He gave the red to Callista, Lydia and Cecelia to share as a ‘thank you’ gift for putting up with him that first week.

  
Lydia punched his shoulder lightly, affectionately before she turned to busy herself with uncorking the damn thing while Cecelia ran off to fetch some glasses after pressing a shy though excitedly hurried kiss to his cheek.

  
Calista smiled at him, genuine and true and proud.

  
Once the three women were out of sight, giggling brilliantly to themselves all the way down the hall, Wallace tugged him to his chest, holding him close, offering wordless comfort.

  
Treavor would later join the three women for cards, drunken cards.

  
He lost miserably to a sozzled Cecelia and was endlessly thankful that the three women had decided to bet with chocolate that night as Treavor would have easily lost any bit of coin he’d put down.

  
Cecelia was surprisingly competent at poker when drunk.

  
Regardless, Treavor awoke with a wonderful ache in his cheeks in the morning from all the smiling he had done the eve before.

  
:::

  
The life of an investor was a dangerous one.

  
One day you could be flying high on a good bond without a care in the world and the next you could be on the streets because of course the stocks just had to crash.

  
Custis had told Treavor many times that investing was not a game to take lightly, much like poker or blackjack, there were risks and there were rewards. Custis made sure Treavor knew how to handle his finances and savings, not that Treavor, looking back at least, was any good at it.

  
The elder twin did however, ensure that Treavor knew how business and investing worked. Treavor had always detested the mathematical aspects of running companies and stocks and such, but he understood the theatrics of it quite well.

  
Custis also made it very clear that it was always best to settle with something that worked and play it safe.

  
“Unless of course you want to end up a whore on a street corner.”

  
Treavor remembered his brother’s voice being calm and poised as spoke, his speech never wavering and his eyes only ever wandering from Treavor’s to look to the neat stack of papers before him on his desk, if not for the lovely rosy hue painting his cheeks, Custis would have been the picture of composure.

  
Treavor wondered then, how exactly his brother was able to remain so collected as he read over that months mining report, while his hand tenderly ran through Treavor’s hair, guiding his baby brother’s head along his prick.

  
There were many hours Treavor spent on his knees in Custis’ study, suckling and swallowing around the length of his brother as Custis read in his chair, sometimes his brother would speak to him of business and other times Custis would call him the cruelest names as he did his best to choke Treavor on his cock.

  
Fortunately, the lessons Cutis purred as he buried his baby brother’s head between his thighs managed to stick with Treavor through the years.

  
Unfortunately, Treavor had yet to fall in love with the statistical side of business.

  
Thank the abbey for Piero.

  
“Home security is always an investable endeavour.” The inventor mused as he pinned yet another flow chart up onto the corkboard,

“People like to feel safe, and if what they feel offers them safety becomes obsolete, they invest in other options.”

  
Treavor nodded slowly before he mused a coy, “I know Sokolov Industries is pushing for ‘Wall Of Light Bonds’ this week.” The inventor glowered at the nobleman before catching the little smirk Treavor was wearing.

  
“Hilarious.” Piero snarked lightly, playfully, he was slowly getting used to Treavor’s newfound teasing nature, “But I was thinking of smaller scale security, locks and safes and such, things that common folk would be interested in and able to afford.” Treavor thumbed in a note.

  
“What about security alarms or traps?” Treavor asked, Piero shrugged, “Alarms fall under small scale security, but manufactured traps are as easily dismantled as they are noticeable. The only people who bother purchasing them are those too uncreative to come up with their own or too desperate to bother.”

  
“There seems to be a lot of desperate people out there now…” Treavor pointed out, Piero shrugged again, “Make a note of it if you must.” He finally replied.

  
Treavor did.

  
They had been going over different investment options for the past two hours or so, with Treavor bringing up different businesses he knew of and Piero meticulously picking them apart to decide whether or not they were investible.

  
Now that Treavor had a sizable inheritance at his back, and what he had dubbed his ‘wine reserves’, he could begin properly utilizing his funds.

  
One of the first investments he had made was, much to Piero’s carnage, into the Pendleton silver mines.

  
Treavor knew the mines were worth nothing, Piero had explained it quite clearly as had Mr. Vibrosco… But if there was a chance that Treavor could ensure his brothers survival in such a wretched place, he’d do it.

  
He started by redirecting the funds from the actual mines to the on-site housing and hygienics under the guise that there was discussion of freezing all transports from Pandyssia, so he needed to keep however many workers he had alive and in working condition.

  
Piero said that the leading cause of death in quarantine zones was disease. Too many people packed into too little space created a breeding ground for a number of nasty illnesses. The silver mines were in no way shape or from a quarantine zone…

  
But from the brief overnight stay he had suffered through the one-time Morgan and Custis had… Convinced him to tour the mines with them, he knew just how filthy it was.

  
The workers resembled shambling carcasses, emaciated and sickly, the sight and smell upset Treavor to the point where Morgan volunteered to depart early with their poor baby brother the next day and leave Custis to finish whatever business he had there.

  
Treavor recalled asking Morgan why the workers were in such a sorry state as his brother gently rolled him onto his back in the coach. Morgan, rather than answering the question, took him quietly into his arms and kissed him sweetly as he rocked gently into Treavor until his baby brother forgot what had upset him so greatly.

  
And to think his brothers were now part of that shambling, sickly horde…

  
Other than that, he and Piero, whenever Piero wasn’t working on something for Corvo or designing his own remedies and inventions which honestly Treavor had half a heart to invest in, were creating a list of literally anything and everything Treavor could begin investing into.

  
HoneyPotting, as Piero called it, sticking his fingers into whatever he could until he found something that stuck.

  
The first ten investments they had picked out together would have the first quarter term ready for evaluation by the end of the week.

  
Treavor had never felt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit more of this and then I can go back to just writing plotless smut.  
> But rest assured, the last chapter of this will most definitely be plotless smut.  
> Who here thinks Treavor could ride two dicks at the same time?


	5. Smad (It's Like Sad, But With A Bit Of Mad) Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When life decides to kick you in the teeth, it doesn't tend to just knock one or two teeth loose.  
> Life goes for your fucking everything.  
> And Treavor is slowly beginning to realize just how much more he can loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I have so many ideas for other stories but if I start them I know I'll never finish this one.

Treavor felt like a monster…

  
Sokolov had held out for a surprisingly long time in the old kennels, slipping the Loyalists bits and pieces of information, half-truths and such to keep himself interesting, keep himself alive…

  
But a person can only survive three days, four if your lucky, without water.

  
Havelock had been the one to order the torture, yes torture, because there was nothing else Treavor could think to call it.

  
Treavor, as well as many of the other residences of the Hounds Pit had been against the very prospect to varying degrees, even Martin had honestly, or as close to honest as Martin could draw, wanted no part in it.

  
“Are we really much better than Burrow?” The Overseer asked in a heated whisper as he cast the butt of his cigarette into the bay, “Torturing a man like this?”

  
The whole ordeal with the natural philosopher was to learn the identity of the Lord Regent’s financial backer who was, conveniently, also his mistress.

  
First, they tried asking, just asking, the Royal Physician, naturally, was uninterested in discussing anything with the people who decided to lock him in some old dog cage.

  
A bribe of some Tyvian beer proved more fruitful, however, Lord Regent was a clever bastard, he made sure that Sokolov never saw her face, “Not once while I painted her, she never spoke a word.”

  
For nearly the next two weeks, the natural philosopher continued slipping hints and tid-bits of what little he knew to Havelock, things that anyone cou;d have just as easily assumed.

  
“She was of nobility.”

  
That much was obviously, businessman don’t invest in coinless endeavors. Aristocrats however tend to have change to spare so it would make sense the Lord Regent to pursue affections from someone willinging to support his cause.

  
“She was blond, I remember that. Fair skinned, willowy. Very pretty. The Lord Regent is lucky to have her wrapped around his prick.”

  
And that narrowed the list down, if only somewhat.

  
There was not a single word of her in Campbell’s journal, so the Loyalist Conspiracy was left scratching their heads. Martin did what he could from his position as High Overseer to try and figure out her identity while Treavor began listening in on the rumor mill.

  
Eventually, they would have come to the truth, nothing could remain buried forever and there was already a murmur of the Lord Regent’s mistress passing between guardsmen like a fever…

  
If only Havelock had had the patience…

On the morning of the fourth day with no food and no water, Sokolov finally spoke.

One of the Boyle sisters…

He gave nothing more, he could give nothing more…

At first Treavor… Well he couldn’t not believe what the Royal Physician had said. As kind as the Boyal sisters were to him, offering their shoulders and guiding hands in his time of need, he knew damn well that they could be cutthroat.

  
It wouldn't be a stretch to think that… Well, any of them would willingly go to bed with Burrows and slip coin into his bedside table…

  
Lydia was mature enough to not simply fall into the Lord Regent’s lap, he would have had to take his courting very seriously and his affections must have been honest if Lydia chose to accompany him.

  
Esma, as kind as she could be, was a fiend. When he and Waverly were younger, (Very, very younger) They had stumbled across a little black box beneath Esma’s bed. She damn well screamed herself horse when she found her younger sister and Trevor casually seated on the floor of her room playing with her _toys_.

  
The scandal of sleeping with the Lord Regent would be more than enough to have Esma on her knees.

  
And then there was Waverly…

  
As much as Treavor hated to admit it, Waverly would have had the most sound reasoning for bedding the Regent. Power.

  
Dunwall was in the throws of chaos and disease, but when the plague came to pass, who would so willingly stand beside the Lord Regent? Bear the title of Lady Regent, or whatever title she woul;d claim for herself?

  
Waverly was Treavor’s best friend. He had no qualms admitting that…

  
But Waverly always seemed to hunger for more.

  
Havelock asked Corvo if he was up to getting his hands dirty that night, immediately, Treavor had foolishly stepped in advising patience.  
“The annual Boyle Masquerade is being held in a fortnight.” He said, his voice shook at the back of his throat, but his tongue held steady. “The Boyle sisters tend to travel about and out of Dunwall at their leisure, it could cost us weeks to track down the mistress.” He said.

  
“Then take them all out.” Havelock grit as he moved to stand too close to Treaor, “Most of those damn aristocrats have thrown their lot in with Burrows, and we all know parliament could use a good cleaning.”

  
Treavor bit his tongue to still his retort.

  
“It could still cost us weeks to find the three…” He hissed, “If… If we wait until the masquerade, then they will all be present at their estate for the party. All we would have to do is identify the mistress and…”

  
I need to say goodbye...

  
Havelock thought it a grand idea.

  
Treavor buried his face into the crook of Cecelia’s neck that night, clinging to her desperately as her arms coiled around his shoulders.  
He stifled his screams against her flesh and cried well past dawn.

  
:::

  
The second major investment Treavor made was redecorating the estate.

  
He needed something more constructive then card games and cats cradle to keep him occupied. The whole ordeal with his brothers had been suffocating Treavor since… Well, since their disappearance.

  
The crushing weight of guilt had been lifted somewhat by Martin and even more so by that damn letter…

  
But Treavor’s failure was passive at most, he tried to throw a metaphorical wrench in the gears…

  
The Boyle family had been long time friends of the Pendleton family, their parents had been friends, and then their children had been friends and at a time it was expected between the two families that Wavery Boyle and Treavor would wed.

  
It wasn’t right, so it never happened, besides, Waverly and Treavor found themselves better off as just friends…

  
Only this time… This time, in the plot against the Lord Regent’s mistress…

  
Treavor was to be an active gear in the machine.

  
And there were no wrenches to throw…

  
Treavor wanted to go see the Boyal sisters, warn them… But he couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t. Not without exposing himself, not without exposing the whole conspiracy…

  
He was restless and sick with worry and fear and guilt.

  
He needed a distraction, but he didn’t trust himself to go see the Boyle sisters without spilling his guts to them...

  
The first quarter evaluations for the ten investments he and Piero had decided to try their hand at, had returned, the inventor managed to further narrow the ten down to six before he told Treavor to send out the other eight, they had decided on investing in.

  
Either way, Treavor had some extra spending money and he absolutely could not stand the sorry state his home had become.

  
Every time Treavor stepped foot inside the too large, too cold, too dark house, he couldn’t even begin to fathom how exactly his memories of the dreary place were so warm…

  
The whole house was dreadfully ghostly, even with all of the blinds drawn wide… Allowing the golden sunlight to paint the hallways…  
Perhaps it was because each warm memory Treavor had involved his brothers, and perhaps they had stolen the warmth of their home when they had been stolen from him.

  
Windows had gone out of style some years ago, but Treavor couldn’t stand the dark… It was suffocating…

  
Treavor wondered if Morgan and Custis were suffocating…

  
The contractor seemed surprised by the new floorplan Treavor had drawn up alongside Piero, but money spoke louder than words in most situations.

  
Schedule set and bills paid.

  
Treavor was advised to remain away from the homestead until construction was completed.

  
:::

  
“Dear sir.” Lydia Boyle mused warmly as she gently attached herself to Treavor’s arm, even donning her classic black masquerade suite he could tell by the sound of her voice whom he spoke to.

  
Lydia that eve was calm and collected, she was in her element, a true social butterfly, fluttering between guests and catching up with old friends. No one could see it, but Treavor knew she was smiling beneath her mask.

  
Treavor wondered if she would ever smile again…

  
Guilt tightened in his throat.

  
“Lady Boyle.” Treavor replied smoothly, refraining from speaking her name in the crowd, he and his brothers… He had an unfair advantage to the masquerades ‘guess who?’ game, and he had, many times before, accidentally referred to the three by name, spoiling the point of the game.

  
He had gotten better over the years, more careful. After all, it was rude to ruin a perfectly good evening of jest and mystery.

  
“I am quite pleased to see you here tonight Treavor.” She murmured softly, leaning close to prevent keener ears from listening in as she patted the back of his hand. Her voice held some edge of concern.

  
“It’s good to see you on your feet, out and about. I know I’ve seen you at parliament, but I feared you’d rather the company of walls then friends tonight.” Lydia whispered, Treavor huffed lightly desperately wishing he could be anywhere but there as he replied with a quiet though light, “I’ve seen nothing but walls for too long Lady Boyle.”

  
Lydia squeezed his hand gently, “Then I am glad to see you here tonight.” Treavor smiled behind his mask as a looming figure stalked through the doors, “As I am glad to be here.”

  
Treavor didn’t care for the ‘guess who?’ aspect of the Boyle Masquerade that year, especially that year...

  
Treavor was dressed as a widowbird, sleek and feathered and black, mourning black… He was quite proud of the last-minute design change because originally…

  
Well, if the Boyle sisters could match, the Pendleton twins would as well…

  
Morgan was to go as ‘night’, Custis ‘sea’ and Treavor ‘fog’ to create a simple little, though painfully obvious, trio…

  
Treavor remembered his brothers inviting some seamstress over to take measurements and such, this of course took place some months before his brother’s disappearance, one of the few times they returned to the homestead during their time guarding the young empress.

  
Morgan’s suite consisted of the darkest blue fabrics; his mask, the same dark blue of his suite, was simple and smoothed to conceal his features, with a thick obscuring scarf which trailed down around his shoulders, pearls were fashioned into the surface of the mask and into the fabric of the scarf to mimic the stars.

  
Custis’ suite, much like Morgan’s, was a dark blue, lighter than Morgan’s if only just. And, as always, their masks were borderline identical, though the scarf around Custis’ neck would bare ripples of lighter blues and whites to imitate waves.

  
Compared to his brothers, Treavor’s costume was unique, silky grey in color with silver accents swirled throughout the light, loose fabric, the veil, an actual veil, designed to accompany Treavor’s mask would have been flowing light like rolling fog. The whole outfit was unbelievably weightless, with hidden folds in the fabric at the most opportune places.

  
Custis brought Treavor to the bedroom while they were supposed to be changing out of their costumes as Morgan finalized the purchase. Greedy hands pawed and fondled Treavor through the hidden folds as Custis fucked him roughly against a wall, murmuring filthy promises through his mask as he took Treavor in his hand.

  
Custis and Morgan promised to fuck Treavor every chance they had at the Boyle’s Masquerade… And honestly, it was something Treavor had been looking forward to. The games they played were dangerous yes, but so very satisfying.

  
Treavor could imagine all the quiet corners of the Boyle estate and shaded alcoves as potential spots to kneel before his brothers or press against the walls and spread his legs…

  
But Custis and Morgan were not there, and Treavor felt it would be a disservice to his brothers to wear the suite without them…

  
Wallace had been the one to suggest the design change, and Treavor had agreed, though it would be rather difficult to have an entire new suite tailored within a week…

  
It was by some stroke of luck that a new suite would become unnecessary.

  
Surprisingly, it had been Cecelia to suggest he go as a widowbird, cruelly ironic as it was, something which she apologised for profusely and something which Treavor forgave her for after an hour or so.

  
Cecelia was a bit of an air head sure, but she was kind and her suggestion was just that, a suggestion, no malice intended.

  
And Cecelia more than made up for her ill-worded proposal by supplying the needed feathers for the costume and mask, apparently a cousin of hers sold mockingbirds somewhere to the north, and while they weren’t widowbird feathers, they were close as anyone could get.

  
The costume itself was both dark and vibrant in the right light, incandescent shades of blue and violet glossed across the feathers adorning his shoulders and sleeves. His mask resembled that of a Serkonan plague doctors, though glossed with the ebony feathers where appropriate.

  
To say that Treavor was one of the five centerpieces of the masquerade that year would be an understatement, not that it helped him remain inconspicuous oh no, the fact that the three Boyle sisters each took time from their evening to stop and talk with him was a dead give away to his identity…

  
But him losing the evenings guessing game was hardly his reason for loathing that year’s masquerade…

  
Treavor already knew Lydia was wearing black that evening, and it wouldn’t take much for him to identify the other two Boyle sisters… They would greet him warmly, ask him for a dance and perhaps take him for a drink, (he would decline the drink)

  
They would talk as friends do and when he had the opportunity, Treavor would tell Corvo which Boyle sister was wearing what and…

  
That would be that…

  
Corvo continued to skate along the outskirts of the party, avoiding the crowd whenever he could, though his mask was another centerpiece of the evening, the other aristocrats found him amusing, completely and blissfully ignorant to the very real danger the man behind the mask posed to them…

  
Still, those damn glassy eyes found Treavor every so often as if to remind him of his duty, of his plan…

  
Oh Waverly… What kind of a mess have you gotten yourself into?

  
:

  
“Ah, Lord Pendleton, I was wondering if I’d see you here.” Bunting, slimly, slimy Bunting, chimed as Treavor stepped out into the garden, Lord Montgomery Shaw had declined his invitation to the masquerade that year for whatever reason so he wouldn’t be hanging about in the garden, meaning Treavor could come and go as he pleased without the risk of an unpleasant encounter.

  
Unfortunately, the back gallery proved to be an ideal location for smoke and banter that eve.

  
Bunting slid to Treavor’s side, cigarette pinched between his fingers and a tall glass of something fizzing in hand, half empty and evidently not his first.

  
“Bunting.” Treavor replied calmly before he took a ginger sip of the virgin cocktail Esma had gotten for him once he denied a glass of something stronger.

  
“Oh, of course Treavor, my apologies I forgot.” The rouge clad sister replied as she quickly deposited the second glass of wine onto another passing hand, “It’s strange to see you without a glass in hand though…” She mused.

  
“A good strange of course.” She concluded lightly, “But as hostess, I must ask, is there any drink you would like tonight?”

  
“Well, what would you recommend Lady Boyle?”

  
“You’re in luck, I recently came to fancy a lovely little cranberry cocktail mixture, but for your tastes, I’m sure sparking water will suffice.”

  
“I heard about that wine auction you held.” Bunting continued, loud and ever so slightly drunk, purposefully catching a few ears as he did, “Ingenious Treavor, absolutely ingenious!” He laughed, clapping Treavor on the back with vigour as if they were friends.

  
“If only I had known, I would have gladly made you a rich man.” The drunk chimed before leaning against Treavor as his feet stumbled, which was when he noticed the glass in Treavor’s hand.

  
“Oh, what are you drinking?” The art dealer cooed as he peered closer to the sparkling crimson liquid. Treavor closed his eyes, regardless of the mask he wore, to (Poorly) hide the roll of his eyes, before he replied with a curt, “Sparkling water Bunting.”

  
Bunting laughed, “Sparkling water? At the Lady Boyle’s annual masquerade?” The art dealer tilted his own mask, an amalgamation of shapes and wire, to take a swig of whatever was in his own glass, “Dear Abbey Treavor, I’m surprised you're not swilling down your drinks by the bottles! What with your now depleted stocks!” That brought a round of laughter from the other aristocrats standing about the garden overhang.

  
Treavor huffed through his nose as he took a quick half step away from the drunken art dealer, not quite allowing Bunting to fall to the floor but certainly causing him to stumble without the extra support.

  
Treavor retrieved the neatly pressed envelope from his inner breast pocket as Bunting righted himself, pausing as he saw the envelop the nobleman before him was offering.

  
“What’s this then?” Bunting hummed as he snatched the file from Treavor, glancing it over briefly before he ran a thumb over the vermillion wax seal. “Bank of Dunwall’s financial executive’s office?” Bunting cooed softly as he grinned up to Treavor.

  
“Did you go out and declare bankruptcy without your financial advisor Lord Pendleton?” Bunting tutted as his fingers began to tear at the wax seal, the surrounding aristocrats chattered to themselves heatedly as they watched like an impatient flock of vultures.

  
The letter was tugged free and nearly gleefully, the art dealer began to read it to himself, mouthing each word even as his drunkenly cheer began to dampen and fade.

  
Treavor downed the rest of his cocktail.

  
“I… I don’t understand…” Bunting murmured as he turned back to the nobleman before him.

  
“That is a court summons Bunting.” Treavor replied slowly, “I’m suing you for financial fraudulence.”

  
The chatter around them stilled.

  
“You see Bunting… I hate speaking ill of the… Absent.”

  
There were no fucking bodies.

  
“But according to a rather dear friend of mine, Custis was a complete and utter moron for being able to swallow an ounce of the shit you were offering him.”

  
Treavor shrugged as more than a drunken blush began to color Bunting’s neck.

  
“I hate math, I truly do… But even I could see that your calculations were dead off. And as the current head of the Pendleton house, I take great offence to these transgressions.”

  
Treavor stepped to Bunting, looking down to the man before him through the glassy, black eyes of his mask, “The court date is in three weeks, and I assure you, with the actual inheritance I have unlocked, my notaries are better.”

  
Treavor stepped past the drunken art dealer and back into the Boyle mansion as Corvo slipped away from the crowd, carrying a white clad woman over his shoulder…

  
He missed his last dance with Waverly...

  
:::

The Pendleton estate was a rustic structure of cool stone and tall, thin windows, soaring ceilings and high walls. Imposing to onlookers and prestigious even to fellow nobles.

  
The homestead was erected some hundred generations previous, beginning as a small cabin and expanding ever since. Changing with the times and trends to keep appearances.

  
In Treavor’s youth, he recalled warm summer breezes wafting through hallways and sunlit rooms. Running his hands over the walls to feel the small imperfections in the paint. Following after a younger Wallace asking a million questions a minute…

  
Times when his brothers were with him, home, warm and solid beside him, before him, behind him.

  
Times when they would help him with his schoolwork, his mean maths teacher would always assign far too many questions, but his brothers would sit with him and help him work through the questions, rewarding him with sweet kisses every time he delivered a correct answer.

  
Or when they would listen to him read to them, either for pleasure or from his language texts, because public speaking is a skill that needs to be practiced. They, at first, would listen patiently before, usually Morgan, would get bored and begin to run his hand through Treavor’s hair. Inevitably, his shirt would be opened and he would begin to stutter as their hands would begin to wander across his skin.

  
He would later learn how sick, sick, sick his brother’s love for him was, how damaging, how damning it was… He was so young, so very young, but that never mattered to Morgan and Custis, he was too innocent, to naive to question his brothers.

  
All he knew was that they were not hurting him…

  
Especially when they would take the time to lay him out beneath them, kiss him sweetly everywhere and fondle him lovingly until he cried their names.

  
Regardless of the grooming his brothers had put him through… The times he spent with his brothers were still some of the happiest memories he had…

  
And now?

  
The Pendleton estate was dark even with all of the blinds drawn wide, cold even close to a raging fire or buried beneath the sheets of his brothers’ bed, clinging to the faded scent still lingering in the blankets…

  
Was being the key word…

  
Now as Treavor looked around the halls of his home… He had never breathed easier…

  
The sun sat overhead, shining merrily through the glass canopy, seemingly floating above, warming the room splendidly.  
Fashion be damned… The windows were well worth the investment.

  
“What do you think Wallace?” Treavor breathed as he looked about the foyer, taking in all the light and warmth the home now had to offer.

  
“I think it’s quite nice My Lord.” The manservant replied softly, “Much brighter now.” Treavor nodded slowly as he began to walk the familiar though so refreshingly new halls of his home.

  
“I’ll have to invite Lydia over…” He mused as he ran a hand over a pillar railing, “I’m sure she’d have some ideas how to decorate, with that green thumb of hers.” Lydia, stubborn, reliable, crafty Lydia who had recently been nudging Treavor towards gardening.  
“It’s a good hobby.” She told him simply, “Great way to kill time and it’s relaxing.”

  
The small succulent plant she had gotten him, Sorbet Treavor had decided to call him, yes, him, had yet to die, and he was a cute little thing, pretty with his green and purple leaves.

  
“I’m sure she would be thrilled to hear you showing interest in gardening My Lord.” Wallace hummed lightly as he followed after Treavor.  
“Do you think Lydia and Cecelia would be opposed to me hiring them once this whole fiasco is over?” Treavor sighed as he opened the door to his own room, marveling at just how nice the sunlight made the new paint look.

  
“I can’t imagine them having issue with it My Lord.” Wallace replied kindly, Treavor nodded as he tended to Sorbet, offering the little plant a sprinkle of water.

  
“Of course I’ll have to invite Lydia and Esma over first… It’s only proper.”

  
“Naturally My Lord.”

  
“Pendleton stocks are up; did you know that Wallace?” Treavor hummed as he set the small watering can down, “First time in years Wallace, in years…” Treavor breathed as he turned to the manservant, his hand reaching up to the hollow of his throat to press against the ring hidden beneath his shirt.

  
“Do… Do you think Morgan and Custis would be proud?”

  
“Immensely Treavor, immensely…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on that conclusion if anyone has any preferences.
> 
> Also please fucking comment, I need attention.


	6. Productive Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treavor *Clap* Get's *Kicks down door* Shit *Belly-flops onto piano* Done *Breaks piano*  
> That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whoever was asking where I was, this one goes out to you.  
> For anyone else wondering, I'm at university.

“I am here to see the High Overseer.” Treavor repeated primly to the golden mask before him, just as he had with the Overseer at the front door, “I have an appointment and he is expecting me.”

  
The Overseer before Treavor remained silent as he thumbed through a file folder.

  
Treavor waited patiently, alternating between watching the Overseer go about his task and looking about the grand entrance of the Abbey of the Everyman, he knew better than to snip at someone rifling through files.

  
It took hardly a minute for the Overseer to look up from the pages he had been thumbing through to speak a queried, “Lord Pendleton?”

  
Treavor nodded curtly, the Overseer slid something beneath the grate separating them, a small wired beacon used for getting past a Wall of Light unit, “New safety measures have been put into place.” The Overseer explained simply as he watched the nobleman snap the beacon onto the inside of his coat pocket.

  
“Overseer Logan will escort you to the High Overseer’s study.” The Overseer behind the grate said, “Just through the wall of light on your left.” Treavor nodded, offering his own small nod of thanks before he turned away.

  
Overseer Logan didn’t offer Treavor much in the way of conversation other than the initial, “This way please.” As they began walking, and Treavor wasn’t too interested in starting friendly talk with anyone at the moment.

  
He was here with a proposition for Martin, in the only location he knew damn well Havelock wouldn’t find them.

  
It took a good while to reach the office of the High Overseer, but Treavor wasn’t complaining about the hike or the twenty some odd security checkpoints he had to pass through.

  
“We’re here.” Overseer Logan said simply as he moved to stand beside some hideously ornate doors, “High Overseer Martin will see you now, kindly be respectful.”

  
Treavor nodded before he opened the door.

  
He honestly wasn’t sure what he was expecting, religious paraphernalia? A bookshelf filled with the Scriptures? A portrait of the seven sins?

  
“I’d say I’m surprised to see you Lord Pendleton, but honestly I’m not.” Martin chimed from his seat behind his simple, barebones desk, complementing the rest of the office’s barebones decor.

  
“You’ve been busy.” Treavor mused coyly as he looked about the room, “Unlike my predecessor, I’m more interested in the practical aspects of service.” Martin replied in his own bashfully playful tone before he gestured to the single, plain chair opposite him.

  
“You know my terms.” Martin hummed as Treavor took his seat, “Simplest terms possible.”

  
Treavor reached into his inner coat pocket and set a plain sheet of paper down on the table between them.

  
“I am dangerously close to dabbling in the occult.” Treavor murmured softly. Martin cocked a brow as he looked to the nobleman before him, he then looked down to the paper between them.

  
**_We need to kill Havelock._ **

  
“That is both a bold and concerning statement Lord Pendleton.” The High Overseer said slowly as he retrieved his own pen from one of the desk drawers, scrawling his reply to Treavor’s statement as he spoke.

“I assume the reason behind your consideration is related to the disappearances of the late Lords Pendleton?”

  
_We or I?_

  
“Partially…” Treavor said quietly as he scrawled a curt.

  
_We_

  
On the page below Martin’s question.

  
“It’s just that, thus far, every search party I’ve funded have turned up with the same bloody results, nothing. Each trail they find goes cold… But without something to bury I can’t help but hope that… They’re still alive.”

  
_Havelock asked me to purchase a very expensive vial of Tyvian Everest._

_He told me he plans to poison Corvo once the Lord Regent is dealt with._

  
Martin hummed thoughtfully. “And why do you think occultism would bring you anywhere closer to solace?”

  
_I am aware of his little scheme; did you get the poison?_

  
“Well… No matter what you call him, god, demon whatever… The Outsider… Has knowledge, doesn’t he?” Treavor muttered quietly, sheepishly.

  
_I bought a heavy-duty sleep aid, not lethal unless you down a whole bottle._

_I only offered Havelock a single dose vial._

  
“I figured, and believe me I know it’s stupid… But I figured if I could somehow ask… Or bribe him into answering a few questions so I could at least… Find something to burry…”

  
Martin nodded slowly.

  
_Smart move. I take it your also prepared a way for the servants to avoid their ‘bonuses’?_

  
“The Outsider is a fiend.” Martin said simply, “You must always remember that Lord Pendleton. He’d be more inclined to have you running after ghosts for the rest of your life then ever offering you relief.”

  
Treavor paused at that.

  
_Bonuses?_

  
“I am well aware of the so-called nature of the Outsider…” The nobleman replied softly as he watched Martin frantically scrawl on the paper between them, “But even so, if there is the slightest chance that the demon could help, shouldn’t I, for my own and my brother’s sake, at least try?”

  
Martin slid the paper back to Treavor.

  
_Havelock is planning on tying off all the loose ends of the conspiracy,_

_which includes Corvo and all the servants residing at the Hounds Pit._

  
Treavor’s throat tightened…

  
“It may seem like a valid option Lord Pendleton, but the consequences of practicing the occult, both legal and spiritual, can far outweigh any benefits, keep that in mind.”

  
Martin ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his skin until it paled under the pressure.

  
“The occult and occult practices are never to be taken lightly. As loathed as I am to admit it, practicing occultists often study their crafts for years, it’s not something you pick up and simply do.”

  
Treavor nodded slowly as he returned the page to Martin.

  
_I’ll see them safe._

  
“As an Overseer, I am demanding you to abstain from any and all occult worship, practices and rituals. As an Overseer, I heavily encourage you to read the scriptures and rethink ways you can change yourself to align with the teachings of the abbey…”

  
Martin returned the page to Treavor again.

  
“As your friend… Treavor I am asking you nicely, please, do not even think of going down this road.”

  
_Then I’ll see Havelock dead._

  
:::

  
“I’ll have you know now… I’ve never been any good at condolences.” Treavor sighed quietly as he offered Esma a box of tissues, she sniffled some empty little giggle as she dabbed her cheeks.

  
The three sat in the sunroom overlooking the garden… Or, it would have been a sunroom had it not been dull and overcast that day, appropriate for the occasion, but still dour.

  
“I’m really not good at this…” Treavor sighed, “Do I ask what happened? How you’re feeling?” He looked between the two women helplessly. Lydia swallowed thickly and shook her head, burying her face into her hands as her shoulders began to shudder.

  
“We don’t… Know, quite yet…” Esma replied softly as she drew Lydia to her side, “The guard suspects abduction… But we’ve no idea how… Anyone could have gotten hold of Waverly in the middle of the party.”

  
Treavor knew.

  
“Has… Were you delivered a ransom note?” Treavor found himself asking, Esma blinked at that, “How would you know about that?”  
“The guard asked the same thing when… Morgan and Custis were…” Treavor shrugged listlessly, “I never received one…” He stated. Esma pursed her lips as another tear slid down her cheek.

  
“No…” She admitted, “There was no note…”

  
Treavor ran a hand through his hair, it was longer, he hadn’t found the time to go to the barber and Cecelia said it made him look nice.

  
“Damn it all…” Treavor sighed.

  
“Please tell me you’ve already funded a search party at least?”

  
“For the love of the Abbey Treavor… We found out just yesterday!” Esma snapped, “We… We came here to, to speak with you as friends!” Treavor sat back in his seat.

  
“I know…” He mumbled, “I know, I’m sorry I just…” He shook his head, “I found out a week after Morgan and Custis were taken and by then all the trails had gone cold…”

  
“You’re worried…” Esma concluded quietly.

  
“Of course I’m worried…” Treavor huffed, “Waverly is one of my best friends and now she’s…” He stilled his tongue and looked away.  
“I’m worried about you two too…” He said softly, “I know I was a right mess when Morgan and Custis were… Taken… So I can at least imagine how you two are feeling…”

  
“You really are bad at this…” Lydia mumbled wearily against Esma’s shoulder. Treavor offered her a helpless, hollow smile.

  
“I did warn you…”

  
“I… How would we…” Esma began, her voice breaking and stuttering as her shoulders began to tremble again.

  
The sigh Treavor so desperately wanted to heave never passed his lips as he moved to sit beside the noblewoman, he offered his shoulder but quickly found himself with his arms full of Esma Boyle as she cried against his chest.

  
Her head pressed against the ring beneath his shirt...

  
“I’ll help you any way I can.” Treavor murmured firmly as his hand came to rest at Esma’s shoulders.

  
“You need help arranging searches, someone to talk to, hell, I’ll even pay you back for the sum you gave me… You let me know…”

  
Treavor tightened his hold on Esma and vehemently ignored the wetness of his own cheeks.

  
“You let me know…”

  
:::

  
Treavor won the court case.

  
Simply, clean cut and without question.

  
Apparently Bunting had been weaseling quite a few people out of their decent and hard-earned coin, and unsurprisingly, those quite few were quite upset.

  
Bunting was going to be paying off every cent of his misconduct until his tenth-generation grandchild was cold and dead, if anyone would ever consider wedding his debt laced ass that is.

  
To celebrate, Treavor invited Wallace, Lydia, Cecelia and Calista over to the estate for a gardening party.

  
“I swear, this is just work disguised as fun.” Lydia huffed as she dropped a sack of dirt onto the lawn, “I thought you liked gardening?” Treavor mused as he cut said bag of dirt open.

  
“I do.” She snipped cheekily as she scooped a good bit of dirt into her hands before dumping it into a nearby planter, specially ordered and designed to wrap around the wall mounted pillars within the newly renovated estate.

  
“But not for nothing.” She stressed, Treavor rolled his eyes fondly, “I have pink lemonade and a proposition.” He said, “But first things first, I want to bring some life to the halls.”

  
Lydia stuck her tongue out at the nobleman beside her before she smeared her dirt caked thumb across his cheek, “I’ll hold you to that, just make mine a hard drink if you would.”

  
Treavor grinned sheepishly as he wiped the dirt off his cheek.

  
:

  
The entrance foyer was lively and bright and green.

  
They had done decent work in the two-hour timeframe, potting and planting and replanting and setting.

  
Treavor took a deep breath and nearly forgot he was inside.

  
“Looks nice.” Calista mused lightly as she looked about the room, her elbow shyly brushing Treavor’s arm. “Not just nice!” Cecelia chimed, “It’s like walking into a fairy tale!”

  
“Alright, alright, aesthetic aside, I was promised lemonade, hard lemonade.” Lydia huffed playfully, “Though I have to admit, we did a damn good job.”

  
That was true enough, nearly every available surface of the front foyer hosted some form of plant. Morning Glory’s, a vining plant which would begin to bloom later in the summer according to Lydia, were set and prepared at the base of the wall pillars while other, simpler blooms were in the process of budding at the center of each table.

  
The foyer was sure to be Treavor’s favorite room in the whole house and would be until he got around to decorating the rest of it.  
“Lemonade will be delivered to the garden.” Treavor hummed calmly before gesturing for the other four to follow him, Wallace had done enough for the day, more than enough, Treavor asked Héctor, a new hire, to bring out snacks and beverages to the garden as they passed him.

  
“There was one other… Well, two other things I needed to discuss with you four today.” Treavor started slowly as he took a seat at the back-court patio, the three ladies plus Wallace followed suite.

  
Treavor took a breath, simplest terms possible.

  
“Havelock is planning on stating himself Lord Regent.”

  
A pause.

  
“Of for fucks sake!” Lydia groaned as she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, “What was even the point of this whole conspiracy if that dumb fucking admiral intends to steal the throne?”

  
“That’s not why I brought you here…” Treavor muttered lowly, “The people are scared, they won’t just blindly trust a new Lord Regent after Burrows. Havelock needs to appear clean for them, Havelock needs to appear trustworthy… And Havelock apparently thinks he needs to cut his loose ends.”

  
Treavor looked around the people before him, gaging their understanding of the situation.

  
“He thinks we’re a threat…” Calista concluded softly.

  
“How?” Cecelia asked, “We’re just servants, all we did was cook and clean.”

  
“We saw.” Lydia interjected with a hiss, “We saw and heard everything… We know Cecelia… We now…”

  
“In short, yes.” Treavor sighed, pausing as Héctor arrived with the glasses and a tray of finger sandwiches.

  
“Thank you Héctor, kindly help yourself if there was any lemonade left.” Treavor called after the servant as the door closed behind him.  
“Which brings us to the real reasons I brought you here.” Treavor mused as he took a sip of the tart beverage, “For the time being, you will have to return to the hounds pit.” The sputter of worry from Cecelia was silenced by a gentle hand.

  
“Don’t engage with Havelock under any circumstances, don’t talk to or about him, don’t even look at him if you can help it.” Treavor said firmly, “I don’t know exactly when he intends to make his move, but I will be asking.”

  
Treavor sat back in his seat, “Martin said that Havelock referred to your executions as your ‘bonuses’… Cruel I know.” He muttered, “Which is why I intend to offer you sanctuary here at the estate until whatever Havelock has planned crashes and burns.”

  
The other people around the table were silent, contemplative, only sharing glances with one another. Treavor popped a finger sandwich into his mouth as he waited.

  
“You’re serious?” Lydia asked slowly, “About the sanctuary?” Treavor nodded, “Quite.” He replied primly, “You four have helped me immensely, this is the very least I could do to repay you…”

  
“But you want us to return to the pit?” Cecelia mumbled nervously, “Appearances are important.” He pointed out, “It wouldn’t do anyone any good if we all disappeared on the same day, Havelock would get nervous and do something rash.”

  
“What about Lady Emily?” Calista asked tightly, she was desperately trying to keep calm, but anxiety was evidently eating away at her nerves.

  
“I don’t know…” Treavor admitted after a pause, “Havelock’s plan is… Negligent at best, counterproductive at worst, but in every scenario, he intends to take the young Empress with him.”

  
“And what? You’ll just let him take her?” Calista snapped, “She may be Empress, but she is only a child! She doesn’t deserve any of this!”  
Treavor nodded, “I agree.” He said over the rim of his glass, “But there is very little I can do for her situation. Havelock intends to present himself as the one who found the lost Empress and state himself Lord Regent until Emily is of age.”

  
Treavor looked at Calista, “At the very least, we know that Emily is too important to be culled, Havelock is mad, but he’s not an idiot. He won’t hurt her.”

  
Callista pursed her lips, “I’ll hold you responsible for her then.” She snipped, “I’ll accept responsibility for Lady Emily.” He replied firmly.

  
“Once we return to the Hounds Pit, I’ll keep an ear out for the ‘bonuses’ and when you can expect them. You wait until the morning of the ‘bonuses’ to leave, and you all leave together.” Treavor explained calmly.

  
“Wallace will be able to bring you to the estate and I expect you to stay here until I am either declared dead or I return.” Treavor looked around the table again.

  
“And if none of you have issue with it, I would very much like to hire you after this mess is sorted.”

:::

It was done…

Treavor resisted the urge to dart his tongue out and lick the drop of blood which had seated itself just at his upper lip.

His ears rang as warm slickness slowly cascaded down the side of his head from where the bullet Havelock had fired strayed wide, clipping his ear nicely as alcohol, fire and the scent of burning flesh, leather and cloth tainted the air, followed by the sick tang of blood as Martin’s blade slid through the side of the admiral’s neck.

Havelock’s eye, the one that remained, had gone impossibly wide as blood flooded from the gaping wound, he gurgled something once, sickly and wet before his head rolled off his shoulders to hang down near his chest.

Martin had severed the spinal column…

And it was done.

They had left for Kingsparrow Isle late the previous eve, two hours after Havelock had given Samuel of all people the order to ‘poison’ Corvo, and then immediately after Treavor had ordered Wallace to get himself and the others out.

Emily was naturally scared and confused and angry, so very _angry_ that she pounded her firsts against Treavor’s thigh as he took her from Callista, she screamed for Corvo as tears ran down her cheeks.

She cursed him wild and vicious and then screamed for Callista as the governess fled with the others.

Treavor crouched low before her and took her by the hand and said the only thing he could think to say.

“D-Do you have a theme for your apology party picked out?”

The question stunned the young girl into silence.

“I… I intend to bring my brothers home once this is all over.” Treavor continued quietly, “We’d be honored to attend your apology party… But if there is a theme we’ll need to know ahead of time.”

Emily swallowed thickly as more tears well in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

“W-What makes you think I’ll ever forgive you?” She whispered, quiet, broken.

Treavor leaned close, “Corvo is the closest I’ve ever seen a man draw to an angel of death, Lady Emily.” He murmured softly as he squeezed her hands.

“He wouldn’t let something like a sleeping tonic kill him, I can assure you that.” Treavor patted the back of the young empress’ hand before he stood, “Now, I need you to not breathe a word of this to Havelock, you understand?” The young girl nodded slowly, nervously.

“Good… Now if you could be brave… That would be appreciated.”

They reached the lighthouse and Havelock went about shouting orders to the guards who had been dragged along, fortifying the entire island while the young empress sat in a small study on the top floor.

“Havelock intends to poison you.” Martin mused softly as he came to stand at Treavor’s side, “Same as Corvo.”

“That’s negligence.” Treavor hissed, “He has no ties to parliament, and insufferable or not, the rest of the aristocracy will not tolerate him there, let alone as Lord Regent.”

Martin merely shrugged, “If it makes you feel any better, he intends to use what little he has left of the sleep aid you Samuel slipped Corvo, apparently the clever bastard watered it down.”

“Corvo will be here soon then?” Treavor sighed; Martin nodded.

Havelock joined them once he deemed the Kingsparrow Lighthouse impenetrable.

He clapped them on the back and congratulated them on a job well done before leading them to the ornate war room and serving them drinks.

“Water is fine.” Treavor hummed as he took a seat across from Havelock, “Oh come now Pendleton, this is a toast.” The admiral chided as he set a deep amber whiskey down before the nobleman.

Treavor met Martin’s eyes and offered the smallest cock of a brow as they toasted, Havelock downing his thumb quickly, the Overseer slipped something between his teeth before he too knocked the thumb back, Martin however did not swallow.

Treavor merely raised his glass to the two men across from him before setting it back down on the table.

Havelock visibly swallowed his rage as he set the thimble back down onto the table.

“We’ve done a fine thing gentlemen.” Havelock began courteously as he started to pace about the room, talking more to himself than anything.

“By dawn, Lady Emily will be returned to her throne, just as we intended.” His pistol slid from its holder and he twirled it around his finger thoughtfully, “Dunwall has lost many good people in her most dire hour. There will be much work to be done to restore her.” 

“Naturally.” Treavor mused smoothly as he watched the admiral, “Once Lady Emily is returned to where she belongs, parliament will fall in line quickly, after all most of the nobility jumped ship one Burrows took control, they’ll be desperate to return to the good graces of the Empress.”

Havelock hummed thoughtfully and Treavor suppressed a shudder as the gun was cocked. The only thing to soothe his nerves was the subtle shift from Martin as his hand slipped below the table.

“Personally…” Havelock drawled lowly, “I wouldn’t trust a single one of those nobles. Once a traitor, always a traitor and all.”

“Well we can’t run an empire without a parliament.” Treavor lambasted, “Especially with Emily being as young as she is.” Havelock scowled, “You would honestly rest Dunwall in the hands of the nobility?” He seethed lowly, “After all, we only eliminated the key investors of Burrow’s plot, any one of them could have been one of his thralls.”

Treavor narrowed his eyes.

“Well then, what do you propose we do Havelock?”

Treavor stared at the barrel of the pistol pointed directly between his eyes.

“That’s Lord regent to you Pendleton.” The admiral seethed heatedly as his finger slipped to caress the trigger.

“And I propose we cull the herd.”

A small ‘click’ was heard before Martin’s chair screamed as he stood, lighter in hand. The deafening bang of a pistol going off at close range echoed through the room before the erie roar of fire erupted.

Treavor’s heart stuttered in his chest; his ears rang but his eyes were transfixed on the sight before him.

Havelock flailed violently, desperately patting the flames licking at his arms, burning through his clothing. He roared and thrashed and screamed and burned.

Martin stood back, blade unsheathed and at the ready.

Havelock’s skin was burnt and blistered horrifically once the fire finally died, Treavor could feel bile churning at the back of his throat as Havelock desperately clawed at the table to stand.

His face was a contortion of fury, fear and madness.

He may have had time to draw his pistol and fire another shot had Martin not been prepared to so easily take a life.

Blood swelled and erupted from the open wound, spraying high and splattering across the room, a cast-off spurt landed across Treavor’s face, dribbling down to hover over his lip…

And it was done…

Martin sighed as he pulled out another chair before he tossed a rag across the table to Treavor.

“He got your ear good…” The Overseer murmured tiredly, “Bullet went straight through, but once the adrenaline wears off it’ll be hurting like a bitch…”

Treavor nodded numbly, watching as Martin leaned close to the corpse to rummage through the pockets of the burnt leather coat as Treavor wiped the blood from his cheeks and brow before gingerly pressing the rag to his ear.

“I’ll clean up here… You best go to the Empress.” Martin sighed as he offered Treavor the keys to the study Havelock had locked Lady Emily away in.

Treavor could only nod as he stood, his knees felt weak and his head felt heavy but still he walked to the study which had become young Emily’s prison.

When he first opened the door, he thought that somehow, the young Empress had escaped, she was clever like that.

“Lady Emily?” He called softly as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him softly, he didn’t need her running out to see… _That._ Treavor stood by the door; hand still pressed to the side of his head to stall the flow of blood as he looked about the room.

Eventually however, the room began to swim, and Treavor found himself slumping to the ground which was how he finally caught sight of the young Empress who had pressed herself as far as she could beneath the large desk by the back wall.

The nobleman and the Empress stared at one another for some long silent time before Treavor murmured a soft little, “Corvo will be here soon…” As he shifted his legs.

“Martin is dealing with the admiral… Everything is going to be fine…” The young Empress slyly shuffled out from beneath the desk, “I heard a gun…” She mumbled quietly.

“And you’re bleeding… Are… Are you alright?”

Treavor huffed, “You’re as selfless as your mother Lady Emily.” He grunted as he slowly drew himself to a crouch, “Martin said the shot wasn’t fatal, I’ll be fine.”

Treavor blindly grasped at the wall as he rose to his feet, the room continued to spin around him, a small hand found its way into his as the young Empress slowly guided the nobleman to a chair.

Treavor collapsed as soon as he could, burying his head in his arm, pressing his wounded ear against the crux of his elbow, he sighed heavily before murmuring a soft, “Thank you Lady Emily…”

“Corvo will be here soon?” Emily repeated softly as she curled up in the chair opposite to Treavor, drawing her knees to her chin as he watched the nobleman before her.

“I… I would imagine so, yes.” Treavor murmured as his eyes drooped, “There’s not a thing that could keep him from you Lady Emily… He’ll be here soon…”

There was a small pause before Emily quietly chimed a soft little, “I think I’ve picked a theme for my apology party…”

:

Treavor and the young Empress sat and spoke together for a while longer before shouting was heard out in the hall. Emily perked up and turned to the door, Treavor could see just how tense the young girl was from where he sat.

The shouting was quickly silenced.

“Lady Emily…” Treavor began softly, quietly as he moved to sit up in his seat, “Get… Get behind the door.” He didn’t order, he couldn’t order the Empress to do anything, “W-when whoever it is comes inside, unless they are a friendly face, I want you to run.”

The young girl looked to the small gap between the door and the wall before turning back to Treavor, her eyes firm despite the glistening fear they held.

“I am the Empress.” She said defiantly as she turned to the door.

“It is my duty to protect my subjects.”

Before Treavor could protest the door was kicked open by a heavy boot and there he stood, cloaked in dark leathers, that damn mask covering his face and perfectly, pristinely, bloodless.

Emily sobbed happily as she threw herself into her Lord Protector’s arms, burying her face into his shoulder.

Treavor sighed quietly as he returned to his slumped position, tired and hurt, his ear was still ringing and his head fuzzy.

He wanted to rest… Hell, he’d give nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep for the next century…

But as Corvo offered him an arm to help him stand, Treavor couldn’t refuse.

He was tire yes…

But he still had a few more things to do before he could rest…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea I'm still working on the final chapter but I have like three essays on the go right now so I'll let you chew on this for now and get back to you when I can.  
> Comments make my world go round.  
> Please comment.  
> Like please.  
> I need validation.


	7. Flocking Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT FUCKING IS.  
> THE PRODUCT OF MY PROCRASTINATION.  
> I HAVE TWO ESSAYS TO WRITE AND A MIDTERM TO STUDY FOR.  
> TAKE MY SHIT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Low key though, I am probably going to add one more chapter when I find time to fucking write again.  
> This is a reunion.

“I’m still not sure why you’ve decided to bring us along on this little venture of yours Lord Pendleton.” Anton Sokolov grunted as the coach smoothly glided along it’s stabilizers.

  
Piero had truly outdone himself with the design and Treavor had never been so pleased with an investment.

  
“Quite.” Said inventor huffed, though Piero sounded far less annoyed as he jotted some notes down in the little booklet on his lap, dedicated to his craft as he was.

  
“I am in need your assistance.” Treavor said, again, for easily the fifty-second time, “I know the Silver mines are a money sink, but I recently received a rather worrisome letter detailing an odd well of sorts appearing in a new vein.”

  
Treavor folded his arms across his chest, “It apparently started spewing some slick black sludge straight from the rock, none of the mining operatives have seen anything like it. They claim it burns quite well and so far, they’ve been using it on their machines as a sort of lubricant, much like whale oil.”

  
Piero perked up at that, “Interesting.” He mused, “I don’t suppose that is why you decided to drag me all the way to norther Gristol?” Piero asked, Treavor offered some halfhearted grin.

  
“This well is certainly part of the reason… The second part has more to do with that fact that Custis apparently signed off all responsibilities and goings on of the mines to a man by the name of Trudish Sorbin.”

  
Treavor tapped the briefcase he had brought with him for the business venture, “I’ve double checked, I could sue for any health and safety violations I find.” Piero hummed thoughtfully, allowing the Royal Physician to pipe up.

  
“May I ask why you needed me then?” Sokolov asked gruffly.

  
Treavor paused briefly, “I am in need of assistance identifying a few people who may have come to work at the Pendleton silver mines.” He admitted, “I’ve brought their most recent medical records… I am hoping you may be help me.”

  
Sokolov cocked a brow at that before gesturing to the briefcase Treavor held.

  
“I was informed some months ago that the late Lords Pendleton, my brothers, may have come to work here against their will.” Treavor supplied as Sokolov began rummaging through the pages of medical records.

  
“I intend to bring my brothers home, one way or another…” Treavor continued quietly as his hand came to press against the ring and handkerchief hidden beneath his suite.

  
“Do you think you’d be able to identify them? If their...” Treavor asked softly once Sokolov snapped the briefcase closed.

  
“If these records are accurate yes.” The royal physician huffed as he returned the case back to Treavor, “May I inquire why it has taken you so long to to retrieve them? I recall the Lords Pendleon disappearing some months ago.”

  
Treavor looked to his lap.

  
“I didn’t mean for this to happen…” Treavor murmured, “The Loyalist conspiracy deemed them a nuisance that needed to be removed… I went to plead with them, but they didn’t listen…”

  
Treavor took a long breath to steady his throat.

  
“I only got word of their situation some weeks after Corvo disposed of them… And by then, Havelock, that bastard, had me on a tight leash so I couldn’t very well go fetch them.”

  
A heavy sigh escaped Treavor as he sat back against the plush coach seat, whoever said that coaches had to be uncomfortable could go jump off Kaldwin bridge.

  
“And of course with Lady Emily’s decision to appoint me Prime Minister, my schedule hasn’t been exactly open.” Treavor continued, Piero made come noise of understanding.

  
“Is this why you’ve been so adamant on keeping those bloody silver mines operational?”

  
Treavor nodded once, “I’ve no idea what would happen to the workers if I stopped investing… At the very least, with the mines open I know where my brothers are…”

  
Dead or alive he thought gravely.

  
:

  
Trudish Sorbin was a mountain of a man, he stood just three inches taller than Treavor, but his gut hung wide over the rim of his belt, his arms were thick and his legs pudgy. His hair was thin but evidently well-groomed, his cheeks were rosy, slick with sweat just from the walk to the road and just by looking at him Treavor felt exhausted.

  
He had obviously been treating himself recently.

  
“I was wondering when you’d come by Lord Pendleton.” The mine Director panted as he ‘walked’ towards the three men. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you about the recent redistribution of expenses you’ve gone and laid about, it’s absolutely ridiculous that you-”

  
“There will be time for that later.” Treavor snipped as he tugged on the thicker outer coat Wallace, bless that man, had reminded him to pack. The mountain air, however tainted by the stench of iron and the familiar reek of disease, was rather chilly.

  
“Preferably inside.” Treavor drawled, eyeing the taller man before him as his hands expertly began buttoning up the front of the coat, Trudish opened his mouth to snarl but a well practiced glare from the nobleman quickly put a pause to whatever retort the man had in store, rather, Trudish shut his mouth and nodded, turning away with a gruff, “Very well.”

  
Piero was already scribbling everything and anything he could see on the forms Treavor had given him earlier, muttering to himself beneath his breath as he did so.

  
“Shall we?” Treavor sighed as he moved to follow the director, waiting for Sokolov and Piero to fall in line behind him before he began to trek to the main facility of the mines…

  
The mines were just as drab and dreary as he remembered, cold fields and rolling hills of stone gave way to sheer cliffs and high plateaus, jagged pebbled crunched underfoot and beneath the whistle of the wind, the sound of grinding gears, splitting stone and people could be heard…

  
:

  
Trudish’s office was well furnished for someone who operated a failing silver mine. The desk was large, made of an expensive dark wood, inlaid with copper, same as the surrounding cabinets. The floor consisted of intricately laid tiles and throw rugs. A wine cabinet, well stocked, sat by a small, cozy little seating area close to a fireplace.

  
“Now then.” Trudish huffed as he sunk into the plush seat behind the too large desk, Treavor noted that there weren’t any other seats in the room, other than by the fire.

  
Rude.

  
“I believe we have some rather important things to discuss Lord Pendleton.” The director finally sneered as he rummaged about a drawer below, “Firstly, I demand to know why exactly you’re squandering this mines funding on fucking housing.”

  
A large stack of papers was dropped onto the table between them, “Progress was poor before, even with your brothers in charge, but ever since you began calling the shots we’ve stagnated!” The man snarled as he watched the nobleman pick up the stack and skim the first page.

  
“Is this a complete report?” Treavor asked as he began to rifle through the pages, “Of course.” The director muttered coolly, “Including recent workplace accidents and deaths?” Treavor mused.

  
Trudish scoffed at that, “Why would that matter?”

  
Treavor offered the pages to Piero who eagerly began looking through them, muttering to himself under his breath, offering some few pages to Sokolov.

  
“I believe I told you that the council was discussing a Pandyssia blockade, no goods or people allowed through.” Treavor replied, his tone was impressively stoic as he stared across the table towards the mine director.

  
His heart fluttered in his chest. His eyes itched and his lungs burned.

  
“Tell me Sorbin, have you managed to keep any of the workers alive?” Treavor bit out slowly, the man opened his mouth before closing it again, Treavor narrowed his eyes before calling out a mirthless, “Piero?”

  
“Seventy-eight dead in the past two months.” The inventor said primly followed by the sound of the files flipping, “It appears that due to the redirection of finances, Mr. Sorbin here decided to cut back on rations, not that it appears any of the redistribution went towards their intended destinations.”

  
Treavor could feel ice slowly begin to gather in his veins.

  
“You'd better have a clear record of the deceased Sorbin.” Treavor hissed coolly, “I want a name for every single worker you’ve lost in the past year, do you understand me?”

  
The mine director shied away from the nobleman before him, suddenly, his disposition became nervous as he averted his eyes, “We… The workers don’t have names, only numbers.” He stuttered quietly.

  
“Now that…” Treavor sneered lowly as he set his hands against the desk to lean over and look down upon the man before him, “That sounds an awful lot more like a slave labour camp than a mining operation.”

  
Trudish sputtered some reply as Treavor turned away, “Have you a hierarchy here?” He asked, “A second in command to whom I may speak with?”

  
“I… Yes, Lord Pendleton.” The man simmered as he slid from his seat, “Jeromy Primble and Naeth Quinsib.” Treavor nodded curtly, “Fetch them for me.”

  
The director scurried out the door deceptively quickly for someone his size.

  
“Piero.” Treavor huffed tiredly as he allowed his shoulders to slump in friendly company, “I am going to ask you to tour the mines with one of the subdirectories, mark all violations you see, I want this facility flattened by the end of the month.”

  
The inventor blinked before nodding slowly, “I’ve already seen enough from the walk over to have this location shuttered.” He said, “But thoroughness is always appreciated by the courts.”

  
Some few minutes later, Trudish returned with who Treavor assumed to be the two gentlemen he referred to earlier.

  
“Lord Pendleton.” The one to the left said formally as he offered his hand, “Jeromy Primble. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Jeromy was a typical businessman, well-groomed, well-dressed man, not as well as Trudish, but well enough, with a strong grip.

  
“I organize the mines finances and just about everything else.” The man went on to say, his voice chipper and excited, “Mr. Sorbin mentioned that you were interested in seeing a list of the departed? I can have my assistant fetch you the documents.”

  
Treavor nodded once, coolly, “Please do.” He quipped, “Preferably as far back as you can, I have things to discuss with Mr. Sorbin here regarding his way of running this labour camp he calls an establishment.”

  
Mr. Primble’s brows rose high and he blinked owlishly before nodding and scurrying out the door. Treavor glanced to Trudish once Jeromy was out the door, “Nice to see someone with some sense of organization.” Treavor snipped.

  
Trudish’s cheeks burned with heat and ire.

  
“And you must be Mr. Quinsib?” Treavor mused as he turned to the other gentleman in the room, cutting whatever vile retort Trudish had planned. “Just Naeth if you would.” The man replied lightly, Naeth, unlike Jeromy, was a tad scruffier, his hair tied back into a tight bun of sorts, his clothing less formal, clearly he was one to be found out in the stone fields rather than behind some desk. But his paw of a hand was warm and solid.

  
“Tell me Naeth, who would I ask if I wanted to see the mine?” Treavor asked calmly, purposefully ignoring the director as he did so, the man stood taller and smiled, “That’d be me Sir, and I’d be happy to take you on a look around.”

  
Treavor nodded, “Yes well, I would love to go, however I will be sending Mr. Joplin in my stead, I have things to discuss with Mr. Primble.” Naeth merely smiled.

  
“Of course.” He chimed as he turned to Piero, “We could start now if you’d wish Mr. Joplin, right this way.”

  
Piero offered Treavor a… Unfamiliar look before he turned to follow the other man.

  
The three men stood in silence as they waited for Mr. Primble to return, Sokolov was still leafing through the pages upon pages of documentation Piero had handed him on his way out, Trudish was, for once, being smart and keeping his mouth shut…

  
Treavor was merely thoughtful…

  
Seventy-eight dead in the past two months… That was at least one death a day… And his brothers have been here for much longer…  
Treavor felt sick.

  
“Here we are.” Mr. Primble chimed as he forced the door open, wheeling a large cart covered in grey binders into the room, Treavor’s throat went dry. “A-are those all the deaths?” He asked slowly, doing his damnedest to still the stutter in his throat.

  
“Of course not Lord Pendleton!” The man said quickly as he reached into the underside of the card, “The black binders contain the death certificates, the grey ones are all current workers.” Jeromy explained as he set two, just two, black binders atop the pile of a dozen or so grey folders.

  
Only two black binders... One half full.

  
The rolling anxiety churcing in Treavor’s gut didn't go away, but the tightness of his throat eased if only somewhat, breathing still hurt, but it wasn’t impossible...

  
“I…” Treavor began slowly, “I was informed some months ago that you acquired two new workers.” Jeromy blinked before he narrowed his eyes, not in suspicion, but more so confusion.

  
“Yes Lord Pendleton… Despite your concerns the ports to Pandyssia have yet to close, we import of new workers as we need them.”  
Treavor shook his head, “No, no…” He muttered as he reached into another inner pocket to retrieve the letter, he handed it to the man with an arched brow.

  
“I was honestly surprised you bothered writing me regarding the subject. But the letter said that they were twins, already shaved and… Mutilated… Upon their arrival.” He said quickly, perhaps too quickly.

  
“They should have also had surgical scarring on their hands…” Treavor supplied quietly.

  
Mr. Primble pursed his lips thoughtfully as he read over the letter, this time his eyes were narrowed with suspicion as he turned to Mr. Sorbin, “I informed you of the circumstances surrounding these two, did I not?” He asked.

  
“You gave me a load of paperwork is what you did Mr. Primble.” The director sneered, “I handle and organize the bulk paperwork.” Mr. Primble snipped curtly, “As the director of this mining facility it is your responsibility to read and review all peculiarities. I found the circumstances of their arrival odd so I forwarded everything to you.”

  
As Mr. Primble spoke he began weeding through the pile of binders, every time his hand strayed too close to the two black folders Treavor could feel his heart skip until finally, finally…

  
Mr. Primble plucked a grey folder from a lower shelf of the cart.

  
Grey… Current workers…

  
Treavor could feel the knots in his guts tighten and loosen.

  
His brothers were alive.

  
He was going to see his brothers.

  
“SM-N5-27 and SM-N5-26.” Jeromy huffed as he offered Treavor two pages from the binder.

  
His breath caught in his throat as he looked between the mug shots… Fucking mug shots, as if they were criminals...

  
“We received these two a few months ago.” Jeromy explained, his voice stoic as he spoke, “They adapted quite poorly at first, refused to do any work, kept disturbing the other workers. We ended up separating them for disciplinary action, we’ve had twins work here before you see Lord Pendleton, we know how to encourage proper behavior.”

  
The paper began to crinkle between Treavor’s fingers.

  
“They could hardly function by themselves, codependency or something I suppose, they smartened up real fast once they were reunited, won’t step a toe out of line now, either of them. Though of course-”

  
“Get. Them.” Treavor hissed through his clenched jaw as he handed the two pages over to Sokolov.

  
“I... Beg your pardon Sir?” Mr. Primble asked slowly.

  
Treavor sneered as he stepped to the man, “Did I stutter Mr. Primble?” He hissed coolly, “Go to the mines and retrieve SM-N5-27 and SM-N5-26.”

  
The man nodded feverishly before retreating out the door.

  
“Lord Pendleton.” The Royal Physician called softly from his position munched over the desk.

  
“Verdict?” Treavor asked quietly as he went to the physician’s side, Sokolov huffed, “Manageable.” He muttered gruffly, “At the moment, all records match.”

  
Treavor brought a hand to his mouth to stifle the shuddered sigh…

  
“Of course, I will need to do a full examination… And thereafter…” Sokolov shrugged, “Medicine, therapy. Whatever suites the situation.” Treavor merely nodded.

  
“What in the name of the isles are you talking about!” Sorbin finally seethed, “You came here for business, but all you’ve been doing is bunblefucking about! Ordering my men around, stipulating my money! I’ll have you thrown out Pendleton! Thrown out I say!”

  
Treavor turned, slowly, keeping his posture lax as he looked to the stout man before him. The room was dead silent. Dead. Silent.

  
“Repeat that.”

  
The man’s jaw clenched beneath his cheeks, his cheeks reddened, his eyes widened.

  
Treavor took slow, deliberate steps towards the mine director, rounding the table until he stood beside the seated man, looking down at him, not over the bridge of his nose of course, that would be rude.

  
“Repeat that Sorbin.” Treavor said again, his voice tighter, “Word for word, if you can care to remember exactly what you just said to me.”  
The man stuttered something quiet beneath his breath.

  
“Oh, do hurry, I don’t have all day.” Treavor snarked coolly before the door just behind him opened once more.

  
“Terribly sorry for the delay Lord Pendleton.” Jeromy Primble not quite panted; his voice punctuated by the scraping of chains… And the shuffling of feet…

  
“You’re in luck, I managed to snag 27 and 26 before they got on for rations.” The man's voice began moving further into the room, followed by the ‘clink, clink, clink’ of metal.

  
“Though I’d advise caution, they are rather ill fond of the guiding lines.”

  
Treavor’s heart pounded in his chest as glanced down to Sorbin before turning away, keeping his back to the door... He couldn’t look…  
He couldn’t look...

  
“Chains…” He drawled slowly as he settled at Sokolov’s side, the Physician was most certainly looking at whoever Mr. Primble had dragged from the mines…

  
His eyes burned.

  
“I do believe you refer to yourself as the director of a mining operation Mr. Sorbin, is that correct?” Treavor not quite seethed as his hand tangled with the sleeve of Sokolov’s jacket, the older man was kind enough to subtly shuffle closer to allow Treavor to take his hand and squeeze, carefully.

  
“I…” The ‘mining’ director began.

  
“I already pointed out the fact that referring to workers by a barcode number speaks more of slave labour did I not?”

  
There was stuttered, weighted breathing from the door.

  
Crying…

  
“And now, you bring me two of your ‘workers’ dressed in chains…” Treavor turned again to Mr. Sorbin, catching but a glimpse of the two men at the door… But nothing more.

  
He couldn’t look…

  
He didn’t want to look.

  
He didn’t want to see his brothers as little more than the shambling corpses he had seen all those years ago when he toured the mines with his brothers… So thin and frail and angry…

  
Sick with disease and fury and hate…

  
Oh god…

  
What if his brothers hated him?

  
Mr. Sorbin looked anywhere but Treavor, meek and suddenly small beneath the gaze of the nobleman before him.

  
“I am going to have the Royal Physician have a look at these two while I go discuss where exactly MY money has been going if not where I requested.” Treavor hissed as he leaned uncomfortably close to the man seated in the chair before him.

  
“I expect you to have a very well thought out excuse by the time I return. Am. I. Clear?”

  
Treavor turned to the door before Mr. Sorbin could respond.

  
He tucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard as he walked past the two… No longer identical men, staring at him wide eyed, cheeks dampened, shoulders quaking, straight to Jeromy Primble.

  
He was a Lord… He was a Lord.

  
His eyes burned, but he refused to cry, he couldn’t cry. He needed to be strong. For himself, for his brothers.

  
Oh, Outsiders Eyes his brothers.

  
“I expect your financial records to be as impeccable as your dead count Mr. Primble.” Treavor said curtly as blood slowly smeared across his tongue from where his teeth had sunk into his lip.

  
Chains shuffled behind him.

  
“Of course, Lord Pendleton.” Mr. Primble said quickly, nervously as he glanced over Treavor’s shoulder towards the two men behind him. “S-shall we discuss this in my office?” The man stammered as he took a step back into the hall.

  
“Naturally.” Treavor mused as he moved to follow, but not before he called out over his shoulder without turning around…  
He didn’t want to look...

  
“Oh, and Sokolov? I’m trusting you to be discreet.”

  
The door closed.

  
Treavor took a very long, very deep, breath of air before he began to follow Mr. Primble.

  
:

  
“I am terribly sorry we were so ill prepared for your visit Lord Pendleton.” Mr. Primble said as he paced about his office, gathering notes and such from wherever they lay.

  
Despite his appearance, Jeromy Primble was a very disorganized man, his office was a mess, or at least it appeared as such, the man seemed to know exactly where everything was so Treavor couldn’t rightly complain.

  
“Sit.”

  
The man paused, looking over his shoulder to Treavor, Treavor nodded towards the small chair behind the messy desk.

  
“Sit Mr. Primble.”

  
The man slowly stepped down from the bucket he had been using as a stool before taking a seat behind the desk. Treavor retrieved Custis’ old pocket watch from his coat.

  
“I don’t like Mr. Sorbin very much Mr. Primble.” Treavor began coolly, “He’s rude and honestly quite irresponsible, and I certainly don’t like how he is running this facility.”

  
Jeromy Primble looked to his lap nervously, “I’m sorry to hear that my Lord.” He replied quietly.

  
“Feel free to speak Mr. Primble.” Treavor huffed, “I’d value your input greatly.” The younger man blinked at that before nodding.

  
“Mr. Sorbin has a rather nasty habit of extorting funds from the mines.” He said, “Of course, I assume you’ve already been able to gather that?” Treavor nodded curtly.

  
“The silver mines are failing.” Jeromy continued, “But even so, we are making more than enough from other investors interested in our stone and other ores that we should by no means be faring as poorly as we are.”

  
Jeromy Primble glanced to the door nervously, “You promise nothing I say here will be used against me?” He asked, Treavor pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the ring, Custis’ ring, shift beneath the fabric.

  
“Not against you.”

  
“This, what Mr. Sorbin has here, is the closest thing you can get to legal slavery. Those workers out there? The ones from Pandyssia? Their families get some shiny quartz scraps and we take their men to work to death, but they sign a paper so legally their on a contract with us… None of them can read, they have no idea…”

  
Treavor allowed the man to catch his breath.

  
“How well do you know the runnings of this operation Mr. Primble?” He asked calmly.

  
“I know everything.” The man replied, “New workers, dead workers. Salaries, expenses. You name it, I have it… Somewhere.” The last word was spoken somewhat sheepishly as Mr. Primble glanced about the mountains of paperwork.

  
“Now then… If I ask you how prepared you would be to take Mr. Sorbins position for say, a few months, how would you respond?”

  
Mr. Primble paused at that.

  
“I could… Immediately, Lord Pendleton, if you request?” He replied slowly. Teavor smiled and stood.

  
“Wonderful Mr. Primble. Just a few more things to take care of then I will be out of your hair.” Treavor gestured for the man to follow and by the scramble of movement within the office as Treavor stepped out into the hall, Mr. Primble was the punctual type.

  
Along the way back to the main office, Treavor was fortunate enough to run into Piero and Mr. Quinsib.

  
“The well is absolutely fascinating.” Piero began immediately as he continued to look at a small vial of viscous black liquid, “It’s properties are bizarre and I will most definitely need to do further testing.”

  
Piero absentmindedly offered Treavor a thick stack of documents, “You asked me to be thorough and I delivered.” The inventor mused, “Mostly everything you’ll need is there, I unfortunately ran out of paper halfway to the well.”

  
“Thank you Piero.” Treavor replied kindly as he allowed the inventor to return to his examination of the black substance.

  
The walk back to the office seemed to take forever but by the time the door came into sight… Treavor felt impossibly unprepared for what was to occur next...

  
Treavor pawed the hidden pistol at his side, firm and familiar against his palm.

  
He opened the door and immediately wanted to stop…

  
Trudish Sorbin was still hat behind his desk, frantically looking over papers while Sokolov and the two not quite identical men sat by the fireplace.

  
“Mr. Sorbin.” Treavor said curtly, he wanted to stop, that didn’t mean he did. “Your excuse? If you would?”

  
The four men in the room jolted to attention.

  
“Lord Pendleton.” The larger man began, his tone professional, a far cry from the sniveling mess Treavor had left him as.

  
“The silver mines have been drying for years now.” He began, twiddling a ring that had most certainly not been on his finger before, “Your much appreciated investments can only go so far, but they won’t help us find more silver.”

  
Trudish Sorbin stood then to pace about the room, “We all rely on the collection and refinement of silver ores here, which is why I was so adamant to utilise your funds more appropriately.” He explained, soft and calm.

  
Treavor crossed his arms.

  
“Mr. Primble is very dedicated man.” Treavor replied curtly, “Not exactly organised, but hardworking. Do you honestly think he wouldn’t be able to explain the goings on of this mining operation to one of the investors?”

  
Mr. Sorbin closed his mouth with an audible ‘click’ of his teeth.

  
“The silver may be drying up yes, but you have other investors keeping you well above the red line Mr. Sorbin.” Treavor cocked a brow, “Now I couldn’t give a shit about the extortions and fraud you’ve been sweeping under the rug, what I do care about however is your apparent incompetence.”

  
Treavor held up a firm hand, silencing the mining directors retort a he retrieved a small black puzzle box from another interior pocket.  
Treavor then turned to the fireplace.

  
Sokolov was sat in the single chair while… The twins were pressed snug against one another on the love seat, some throw blanket draped over their shoulders.

  
They watched Treavor silently as he approached the Royal Physician, their eyes intense and painfully familiar… Treavor set a single hand on the older gentleman’s shoulder in question.

  
Sokolov nodded, “It’s them.”

  
“Are you sure?” Asked quietly, his voice slow and measured to hide the waver at the back of his throat as his lungs began to flutter with soundless sobs.

  
“Positive Lord Pendleton.” The physician replied as he offered the nobleman behind him the paperwork of the mines and the medical records. Treavor signed through his nose as he look the pages over… Before he quickly rounded the seat Sokolov sat upon to approach the two men.

  
He came to stand just before them… And they looked up to him nervously. They, unlike him, had no qualms with shedding tears or choking on their breath. Treavor noticed how their hands, despite no longer being cuffed, refused to leave their sides…

  
The small puzzle box Treavor had retrieved was offered to the two men with a cocked brow. The two men blinked, looking between the box and Treavor, back to the box before slowly, slowly, the twin on the left took it from Treavor’s hand…

  
They worked together diligently and seamlessly… While Treavor watched...

  
Treavor knew Morgan and Custis like the back of his own hand… They were his brothers, his brothers, They had been by his side since the day he was born, he knew them…

  
He could tell them apart as easily as he could breathe, he could tell them apart blind or deaf.

  
He knew them by touch and sound and sight and smell and taste. He knew them by the rhythm of their feet striking the earth, of their gentle charms…

  
The two men before him, while unmistakably his brothers… Were far from identical.

  
Scars and sores littered their visible skin, like mecabe confetti, their hands were split and torn, fingers blistered, knees scraped… One of them had clearly broken their arm if the odd bend of their forearm was anything to go by, Treavor noticed how the man with the bent arm would struggle moving his fingers from time to time…

  
Still, they looked similar enough, and Treavor could recall them that morning at the Golden Cat…

  
There was a quiet little ‘click’ as the puzzle box opened.

  
It was an old thing gifted to the twins on a young birthday, a puzzle box designed to be opened with four hands, perfect for the twins.  
An assortment of childish nik-naks sat within the small box and Treavor couldn’t help but snort as he gingerly plucked a small, pastel blue marble from the box.

  
He cocked a brow at the twins before pocketing the marble.

  
They smiled sheepish and small as tears returned to their eyes.

  
“Incompetence.” Treavor began again, his tone returning to a chilled drawl as he turned back to face the ‘director’, “Has no place in a position such as yours Mr. Sorbin.”

  
“What are you on about Pendleton?” The man snarled, “I’ve been running these mines long before you took over your family name! Don’t you dare begin to tell me how to do my job!”

  
“Sitting on your ass and pocketing extra change is not a job Mr. Sorbin.” Treavor snarked, “I’m honestly surprised you haven’t run everything into the ground, though with the way you have been operating here, I doubt it would take much longer.”

  
The man looked just about ready to snap Treavor’s neck.

  
“But we’re not here to talk about your failing mines are we?” Treavor drawled, “We’re here to discuss something that has been bothering me for the past few months.”

  
“Your ridiculous finance distributions?” Mr. Sorbin sneered.

  
Treavor rolled his eyes, “Your negligence Mr. Sorbin, honestly, do try to keep up.”

  
“What are you on about?” The man asked slowly.

  
“You, Mr. Sorbin, have been displaying a dangerous amount of incompetency that I personally find unfit for someone in your position to possess.” Treavor explain calmly as he circled the back of the chair hosing his brothers.

  
“For starters, I would love to know how the late Lords Pendletons, my brothers, your fucking imployers.” Treavor’s voice rose as he spoke, yet his hands remained gentle atop his brothers shoulders.

  
“Came to work in your mines…”

  
A strange kind of shocked silence quickly settled over the room. Mr. Primble was the first to break it as he all but ran to the cart containing the files upon files of workers. Mr. Sorbin simply stood there, mouth agape as he looked between the three brothers.  
“An excuse please, Mr. Sorbin.” Treavor snarled.

  
The man remained quiet.

  
“I see…” Treavor drawled as he gently squeezed his brother’s shoulders before walking back towards the mine director.

  
“Mr. Sorbin… I am afraid that I find your manner of operations to be both ineffective and disturbing, I will ask you first, nicely, to resign from your position willingly. Or, I will make you.”

  
The man sputtered something obscene as his cheeks reddened.

  
“Mr. Primble.” Treavor called lightly as his palm settled over his pistol, “I believe I asked you earlier how prepared you would be if I requested you to assume the position of mining director?”

  
Mr. Primble nodded quickly, “Y-you did Lord Pendleton.” He replied nervously, “And I said, if needed, I could immediately.”

  
Treavor nodded as he unsheathed the pistol and cocked it.

  
“Wonderful.”

  
The gunshot was muffled by the silencer Piero had developed, but Mr. Sorbin’s screaming was certainly not.

  
“I expect Mr. Sorbin to be taking my brothers positions within the mines by tonight.” Treavor hummed as he re-sheathed the pistol, “I take it you know of all the shortcuts your predecessor was taking?” Treavor asked as he set a hand on Mr. Primble’s shoulder.

  
The man nodded jerkily as a shudder ran over his shoulders.

  
“Wonderful.” Treavor chimed as he patted the shoulder his hand rested upon, “Now, I would hope you also have some ideas on how to fix the mess Mr. Sorbin has left you?” Another nod.

  
“Good, good… I’ll have Mr. Joplin mail you all the violations he found during his tour of the mine by the end of the week, I’ll be returning in a months time to see how well you handle operating this facility.”

  
Treavor released his hold of Mr. Primble’s shoulder to return to the loveseat hosting his brothers…

  
His brothers…

  
“Now, I’d love to stay and chat, but I best be getting these two home.” Treavor hummed, his voice steady and calm, his brothers were alive and… Well, not quite well, but that was fine, they could make things well...

  
Treavor gently eased the two to their feet, endlessly pleased to find them out of those damn shackles and chains, though thoroughly revolted by the states of their wrists and ankles…

  
“Good day Mr. Primble, I’ll leave the operations in your safe hands.”

  
Without another word, Treavor turned to the door, his brothers falling into line directly behind him and Piero and Sokolov soon after.

  
:

  
“Sokolov, if I ask you nicely would you mind playing doctor when we return to Dunwall?” Treavor asked as they made their way down the rocky path leading back towards the coach, heavy work boots adorned his brother’s feet, protecting them from the sharp stones Treavor could feel through the soles of his shoes.

  
He didn’t want to think of the mines, not anymore, not anymore.

  
“I’d rather see my brothers return home than be shunted off to a hospital.” Treavor sighed as he gently, gently knocked his shoulder against… Fuck, he couldn’t tell.

  
He couldn’t tell apart his brothers.

  
“I’ll do what I can.” Sokolov huffed tiredly, “But I expect you to get them professional help eventually.”

  
“Naturally Anton…” Treavor mused softly, “I just want to see them home for a bit…” An arm, scarred and strong and heavily bandaged, settled against Treavor’s own as a hand circled his wrist, Treavor opened his palm without hesitation and the hand, so familiar, so forigne, nestled between his fingers as it had so many times before.

  
“Would… Would you two be opposed to sitting up front for the duration of the trip home?” Treavor asked quietly as they reached the final slope leading to the coach, “I understand it’s terribly rude to ask this seeing as I invited you two but…”

  
“It’s fine Treavor.” Piero hummed, “We understand you must have some catching up to do.”

  
“You’re a godsend Piero, have I told you that recently?” Treavor asked, the inventor nodded, “Seven times this week.” It was only Wednesday.

  
“I expect my room will be available for the night?” Sokolov asked gruffly, though his tone held only fondness.

  
“It always is. You know that.” Treavor replied as he toed the latch to draw down the retractable ladder mounted to the side of the coach to open the door. Morgan and Custis stood wide eyed on the side of the road.

  
“Well, come along.” Treavor sighed as he stepped inside, “I have much explaining to do…” The coach hardly rocked as the twins made their way inside, looking about the exterior as if they caught themselves in some dream.

  
“Piero designed it.” Treavor mused softly as he took his usual seat at the back center curl, tucking his arms into his lap as he crossed his legs, making himself as small as possible.

  
“We’re uh… Business partners now.” He admitted quietly, watching as his brothers felt along the polished interior of the coach, one of the two, not the one with the poorly mended broken arm, Custis, Treavor had to assume, looked to him at the mention of business.

  
He was beginning to note all the differences between the two… Most were disturbing, hell, the very fact that the two were no longer identical was disturbing...

  
“I know you told me to find something that worked and stick with it… But the silver mines were failing and there was hardly anything left and I needed to do something.” Treavor swallowed thickly as he ducked his head to look to his lap as the stranger’s gaze began rolling like a storm cloud.

  
The seats on either side of Treavor dipped as two bodies settled beside him, sandwiching the youngest brother…

  
He was the youngest brother again…

  
Not the only.

  
“Piero’s been a huge help…” Treavor continued softly as he folded his hands in his lap just so he wouldn’t begin wringing his wrists. “He um… He’s good with math… He may not understand business but he knows numbers, we make a good team...”

  
Treavor’s voice faltered then as his chest tightened. Four hands, calloused and cracked, bandaged, took hold of his, warm and familiar, squeezing gently, encouragingly.

  
“I renovated the house…” Treavor murmured, his heart hammering in his chest as his eyes began to itch with unshed tears, he wasn’t sure he could hold back his sobs for much longer, he wasn’t sure why he was resisting them either.

  
“It was just so… Dark. I couldn’t breathe in there, I couldn’t breathe.” A hollow huff escaped his throat as he slowly shook his head, “You’ll probably hate it, there are windows everywhere and I took up gardening, I’m pretty good I’d like to say… It keeps me busy…”  
A forehead pressed to Treavor’s temple as a warm body pressed closer, familiar so familiar.

  
“I sued Bunting.”

  
The body pressing close sat bolt up.

  
Definitely Custis…

  
“He was robbing you blind…” Treavor murmured through a huffed sob as he turned to face the older twin, “The inheritance wasn’t junk, not in the slightest… The banks advisor told me to take legal action so I did…”

  
A strange little… Chortle escaped, if the twin seated before Treavor was in fact Custis, Morgan’s throat as his arm slid over Treavor’s shoulder to tug the younger brother against his side.

  
Treavor leaned against Morgan’s side contently, tucking his head against his brother’s shoulder, forgetting the filthy rags they wore because beneath the lingering stench of the mines, the soot and dirt and blood… Were his brothers…

  
And Treavor had missed the feeling of his brother beside him… It felt indescribably good to have that warmth, that weight right where it belonged.

  
“I won the court case…” Treavor added softly, “Bunting won’t be a problem anymore…”

  
One of the hands gripping his moved to slide just beneath his jaw to raise Treavor’s head, the youngest brother found himself looking up to Custis as his brother turned his head…

  
Treavor could still see the remnants of his brother’s face beneath all the scars and grime, they had cleaned up as best they could in the facilities washroom before they left, but water and paper towels could only go so far…

  
There was still some dirt embedded in the creases of Custis’ forehead, Treavor always warned his brother not to scowl, nothing that a good bath couldn’t fix however... The scarring however…

  
There were various cuts littering Custis’ skin, some small, others large. One in particular ran straight through his eyebrow, Treavor hazarded that he had been lucky it hadn’t taken out his brother’s eye.

  
Sokolov had been sure to bandage off the worst of the newer injuries before they left, and a large portion of Custis’ jaw was plastered white with gauze.

  
“I missed you…”

  
Treavor brought his palm to Custis’ cheek, running his thumb over the patchwork of scars beneath his brother’s eye, Custis in turn rested his hand over Treavor’s as he leaned into the palm, turning his head slightly to press dry, warm lips to the center of Treavor’s hand.

  
Morgan shifted then to seat himself sideways along the coach bench, allowing Treavor to settle against his brother’s chest as Morgan slid his arms to loop around the younger brother’s waist, his head came to rest at Treavor’s shoulder, perfect like a puzzle piece.

  
Custis leaned close then to rest his head beneath Treavor’s chin, his hair, chopped rough and crudely short, tickled Treavor’s neck and jaw, but the younger lord hardly minded as he sprawled his arms across the older brother’s back, holding him close, keeping him close…  
Treavor feared death less than losing his brothers again…

  
Morgan turned his head ever so slightly to nip at Treavor’s neck with his lips and oh, how Treavor missed that.

  
It had been so, so, so very long since anyone had touch Treavor in such a way… He couldn’t bring himself to go to the Golden Cat, and other then the pity romp with Cecelia… Treavor hadn’t so much as touched another let alone himself…

  
Treavor shuddered as Custis caught on to what his twin was doing. He quickly found himself caught between the two bodies, greedy hands pawed at his clothing as teeth and lips trailed along his neck.

  
The twins’ actions were slow and gentle as the explored what little skin Treavor had on display, though Custis was well on his way of unbuttoning Treavor’s outer coat, Morgan was beginning to trail higher and higher up Treavor’s neck.

  
The brother behind Treavor paused as came to Treavor’s ear…

  
Treavor knew he was looking at the hold made by Hakelock’s bullet.

  
“Close call…” Treavor said simply, softly, against Custis’ hair as the elder twin pressed a lingering kiss to the hollow of Treavor’s throat, “Nearly took a bullet to the head…”

  
Custis shifted again to raise his head, eyes wide, cheeks wet. Briefly the warm, wonderful, familiar eyes Treavor recalled so clearly throughout the long months spent alone, paused to look between his own before, like Morgan, drawing to settle against the small silver ringlet Treavor had set into the hole.

  
A reminder.

  
Their noses brushed as Custis leaned close, his lips, dry, cracked, soft, perfect, pressed against Treavor’s slowly, nervously, as if Custis expected to be shoved away.

  
Treavor had been strong up till that point.

  
But that simple, sweet press of lips snapped something into place in his head…

  
His cheeks dampened quickly thereafter as tears spilled, tears which he neither fought to deny or try to hide, his shoulders quaked as he desperately drew air into his lungs between the feverish insistence of Custis’ lips.

  
Morgan hands began occupying themselves with with unbuttoning the rest of Treavor’s outerwear until his hands finally slid against Treavor’s skin. Scarred palms ran across his stomach as calloused fingers pressed teasingly into his skin.

  
Treavor then found his wrists pinned to his side by Custis, a shiver ran through his spine then, tantalizing thoughts flooded his head. The last time his brothers had toyed with him in a coach was after a particularly scathing parliament session before the late Empress was murdered.

  
Custis’ pride had been wounded greatly that day and he took care to let Treavor feel his exact ire as he forced his little brother to his knees and had him swallow his prick down. Purposefully finishing across Treavor's cheeks just as they arrived back at the homestead, leaving him a lovely little mess.

  
Treavor whimpered into Custis’s mouth as Morgan’s hands wandered higher, towards his chest, freezing as they came to graze the handkerchief and ring around his neck. Morgan cooed something inquisitively against his shoulder which drew Custis' attention long enough for Treavor to find his voice.

"I never received a ransom note..." He murmured, "I only got these two things the eve after you..." He swallowed the guilt of lying, "I couldn't bare the thought of parting with them..." Morgan's hands trailed higher, past the ring and handkerchief and up to jaw. Fingers probed and pressed against familiar patches of skin teeth and lips would inevitably find and latch onto until the skin would darken and Treavor draw breathless.

  
Treavor may have sobbed, but he couldn't be sure as Custis leaned close once more, swallowing the sound which bubbled from his throat as Morgan rolled his hips against his lower back, the dirty shreds of pants he wore did little to conceal the stiffness of his prick, nor the heat or weight of it.

  
Treavor pressed against Custis’ lips with an urgency, forcing his brother back just enough to allow Treavor to slip free from the kiss. Flustered and bruised, he murmured a quiet, “Wait.” As Custis made some move to follow him.

  
Custis was quick to retreat, his eyes downcast as he quickly withdrew his hands from Treavor’s wrists… He looked small… Nervous, afraid perhaps. Morgan had paused his actions too, though he seemed more reluctant to retreat than Custis.

  
“Oh stop that.” Treavor mumbled as he twisted in his seat between Morgan’s thighs, offering his other brother a gentle kiss to the edge of his mouth as he reached behind them to flick a small switch mounted to the underside of the armrest.

  
The back coil seat they were atop slid seamlessly, save for a little bump in the rollers signifying the locking mechanism had come into play, into a not quite perfect cot at the back of the coach.

  
Piero truly was a genius.

  
Treavor sighed as he rolled part way off Morgan’s lap to rummage about the shallow linen cupboards usually hidden by the back of the seating to retrieve some blankets and pillows.

  
Morgan hummed something low, evidently pleased, at the back of his throat as he snagged one of the pillows from Treavor, setting it down against the armrest closest to his head before he tugged Treavor close again. This time properly drawing the youngest brother into his lap to lean close and trail his lips against the underside of Treavor’s jaw.

  
A short whistle, low and cooed piped from the opposite side of the cot where Custis sat, pausing Morgan’s actions as he tucked his chin over Treavor’s shoulder to regard his twin with a cocked brow and a small smug smile.

  
Morgan made some chuffing sound as he gestured with his chin towards the pile of blankets Treavor had been messing with, Custis ‘clicked’ with however much tongue remained in his mouth as he went about tugging the blankets loose as Morgan’s hands finally managed to tug off Treavor’s jacket and shirt.

  
Treavor rested his cheek atop Morgan’s head as his brother leaned close, lips trailed wherever they could across his chest as Morgan inhaled greedy breaths against his skin.

  
Treavor reached low to tug the poor excuse of a shirt from Morgan’s torso, finding himself both wonderfully glad to see his brother berid the garment…

  
And wishing that…

  
Gone were their once porcelain complexions, replaced by dirt and grime and traces of agony.

  
Bruises, some fresh, some still healing, spread across his brother’s torso, ugly purple and brown and green and… Morgan gently guided Treavor’s hand to settle over his heart.

  
His skin was warm, the gentle heartbeat beneath Treavor’s palm steady and true and alive.

  
Treavor choked on another sob as Custis settled against his back.

  
“I’m sorry…”

  
Morgan shook his head, weakly ‘tutting’ at the back of his throat as he pulled Treavor close again, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around the younger brother’s lower back as he rolled them to the side, Custis followed suite.

  
Treavor clung to the body before him as he buried his face against Morgan’s neck, he could feel himself shaking, trembling like a leaf between his brothers even as they coiled around him, familiar and warm.

  
Lips brushed over the silver ringlet in his ear, soft and tentative as arms looped around his stomach. He was enclosed on all sides, tightly caught between two bodies he once feared he would never see again…

  
The simple blanket from the cupboard was tugged over their shoulders as Treavor tucked himself impossibly closer to Morgan.

  
“I’m sorry…”

  
His tears smeared against the side of his brother’s neck as Morgan cupped the back of his head to draw him closer, Custis likewise shifted against his back, fitting against him perfectly as if he had never left.

  
Morgan hummed something soft into his hair, a shallow little tone that carried the same little up-down of all-right, all-right, as his hand ran along Treavor’s side.

  
“I was so worried.” Treavor breathed softly through a stuttered hiccup, “I had no idea where you went, if you were alive… I was so worried.” Custis made a low shushing noise as he pressed a delicate kiss to the back of Treavor’s neck.

  
“And then…” Treavor shuddered as his breath caught in his throat, “When I received that damn… That damn letter and I couldn’t do anything I just…” The hand resting at the back of his head tangled into his hair, drawing Treavor from his hiding place.

  
Morgan’s lips were dry and cracked, but firm and familiar against his own, work worn hands came to cup Treavor’s cheeks, and Treavor could not care how much dirt, grime a blood lay beneath the nails because those hands were exactly where they belonged.

  
Treavor sobbed into the gentle caress of lips, his own hand coming to press against Morgan’s while his other settled at his brother’s cheek. Morgan nipped and suckled at his lower lip as he had always done, drawing tepid whimpers from Treavor’s throat while Custis began to paw at his remaining garments.

  
A startled little gasp, which Morgan swallowed greedily, escaped Treavor as his brothers rolled their hips against him, slowly, teasingly. They were both firm and solid and so incredible warm against him that when Custis began to tug at his pants Treavor couldn’t help but raise his hips to allow his brother to slide the garment over his hips.

  
A firm prick was immediately pressed between Treavor’s thighs and, oh, if that didn’t rouse the most pleasant memories. His pants were halfway down his thighs but neither Custis or Morgan seemed too interested in stripping him further.

  
They had access to what they wanted.

  
Treavor whimpered a soft little something into Morgan’s mouth as his older brother took hold of his prick, his hand was dry, but Treavor was already a mess so it took some mere light caresses for the palm fondling him so sweetly to slicken.

  
Custis continued to rock gently between his thighs as his hands pawed at Treavor, brushing along his sides soothingly and keeping him firmly pressed against his stomach to prevent the younger brother from writhing about too much.

  
It had been so long, so very long since Treavor had been caught between his brother in such a way. Solid and warm around him, familiar. Their touches left him breathless and desperate, their kisses sweet and encouraging.

  
Treavor would have been embarrassed by how easily, how quickly he spilled himself into Morgan’s palm, but it had been so long and he had missed his brother’s so horribly that he couldn’t find it in himself to care, he simply whimpered against his brother’s lips and pressed harder against Morgan.

  
Morgan however leaned away from the younger brother, abandoning Treavor’s prick to draw his slickened hand to his mouth. There was no tongue to greet Morgan’s fingers, so the elder brother had to improvise.

  
Treavor was honestly impressed how far Morgan could slide his fingers into his mouth without gagging, but that paled in comparison to the warmth which bloomed across his cheeks as he watched Morgan clean his spend from his fingers.

  
With Morgan’s hands free from Treavor, Custis took advantage of the missing hands fondling the youngest brother as Morgan slowly sat up.

  
Custis’ hand was slow and measured in it’s rhythm along Treavor’s still sensitive prick, his lips and teeth still pressed and wandered across the back of Treavor’s neck and shoulders. Custis was still a familiar warmth at his backside.

  
Treavor turned his head to the side to press his cheek to the top of Custis’ head, the elder twin exhaled sharply through his nose before he abandoned the spot on Treavor’s shoulder he had been mouthing at as he rose slightly to meet Treavor’s lips.

  
The kiss was brief, a mere passing press of lips as Custis propped himself up onto his elbow to lean over Treavor. The youngest brother sighed contently as his brother began trailing gently brushes of lip across his cheeks to ease his tears.

  
Treavor brough his hand to Custis’ cheek, running the back of his fingers over his brother’s warm skin as he guided Custis close for another kiss, murmuring a delicate, “Missed you…” Into his brother’s mouth.

  
This time the kiss was lingering, Treavor made it so, each and every time Custis threatened to move away, Treavor would chase him down, pull him back, keep him close.

  
He knew that Custis could have fought to escape, could have ordered Treavor to stop, but he didn’t, he certainly didn’t seem to mind his younger brother need for contact either. Nor was he inclined to deny Treavor such a request.

  
With his free hand however, Treavor reached low between his thighs, bypassing Custis’ hand still toying with his own stiffened prick to offer his hand to the drooling cock sliding between his slickened thighs.

  
Custis hissed against his lips as he rocked against Treavor harder. Treavor merely hummed a pleased little titter as he felt Custis’ seed begin to spill into his palm.

  
Something warm bumped against Treavor’s cheek, and as he turned to the cause of the sensation, he could feel Custis’ chest vibrate with a silent snicker.

  
Morgan sat just beside the youngest brother’s head, thighs spread, prick standing proud and tall. Morgan watched Treavor intently as his hand pawed at his erection, a pleased little keen escaped Custis’s throat as his own hips began to quicklen in their rocking.

  
One of Morgan’s hands came to caress Treavor’s cheek, this thumb stooping low to run along Treavor’s lower lip encouragingly. The younger brother pared his jaws nervously, it had been quite some time since Treavor had taken anything down his throat, but Morgan did so love to see him choke…

  
As nervous as he was to take the prick, Treavor found himself nearly disappointed as he was denied. The hand on his cheek quickly tangled in his hair as he attempted to take more of Morgan into his mouth.

  
The younger twin shook his head as he tutted at the back of his throat, the head of his cock sat at Treavor’s lips while his palm toyed with the length of his member.

  
Treavor quaked within his brothers’ hold then, immobilized by Custis, held firm by Morgan. Other such times they had caught him so would bring him to tears as they would use him to their heart's content.

  
Yet there he lay, mouthing at the head of Morgan’s prick, tongung the slit, tasting his brother, in the perfect position for that cock to ease it’s way down his throat.

  
Oh, but Morgan refused to.

  
Treavor could only lay there and take what his brothers offered, and after so long, so very long, the mere tepid touches, the lightest of caresses and the softness of their gazes was more than enough to have him a mess in their arms.

  
And unsurprisingly, he seemed to have similar effects on his brothers.

  
Custis’ breath fell hot and heavy against the back of Treavor’s neck, his hips stuttering every few rolls in anticipation, he keened and whined low at the back of his throat as Treavor, with what little room he had to, rolled back against his brother’s pistoning hips.

  
Morgan likewise was suffering. Treavor could tell just how desperate his brother was to bury himself down Treavor’s gullet, use his little brother’s mouth and throat as he so often did once before, his thighs quaked with strain as he resisted the urge to thrust his hips, rather, he offered Treavor the head of his prick while he stroked himself.

  
Treavor laved what little of the cock at his lips he could, lapping any beads of seed to swell at the head greedily as he awaited Morgan to finish across his tongue.

  
Custis purred a heated sigh behind him, pressing close as he spilt himself into Treavor’s palm, and no sooner had Custis settled against Treavor’s back did Morgan spill himself across the youngest brother’s tongue.

  
Treavor keened, oh how he had missed this, missed this, missed this. So many late nights he had spent alone, so painfully alone, missing his brothers, hissing their warmth, their touches, their comforts.

  
Treavor swallowed everything Morgan offered him dutifully, offering his brother’s prick one last fleeting brush of lip as Morgan pulled away to settle before him once more.

  
Treavor greedily drew his brother close for another lingering kiss, feeling Morgan sigh gently against his upper lip before he pressed closer, and Custis chuckle noiselessly behind him.

  
“Missed you…” Treavor murmured softly against Morgan once again, “Missed you so much.” Custis cooed something behind Treavor as he tucked the youngest brother close to his chest, his arms looping around Treavor’s waist and beneath his neck.

  
Morgan likewise shuffled closer, allowing Treavor to bury his face into his throat. Both twins took a heavy breath before they slumped down, content and relaxed…

  
The worst was over. There were no threats of violence from the mining operations, no more caves and stone and death… There in the coach, there was only themselves, the softest blanket they had probably felt in ages and Treavor…

  
Their baby brother who had missed them so terribly… Their baby brother who had fought for their return, tooth and nail. Their baby brother who had found his footing without them to protect him…

  
“You’re coming home now…” Treavor murmured softly into Morgan’s neck.

  
“You’re going to be alright… We’ll get you help, whatever you need…”

  
Custis hummed against Treavor’s back.

  
Things were going to be different, because they could never be the same… Things were going to be different.

  
“I love you…”

  
But some things never changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next will be reunion fucking.


	8. Migrating Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way home is long.  
> Piero offers a poor distraction.  
> The brothers end up entertaining themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to this on a sudden whim of inspiration.

Treavor awoke to jostling bodies, the sound of someone sputtering apologies like a broken record and wordess, garbled, hissing.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn against the back of his hand as he murmured something along the lines of, “What time is it?” Before he opened his eyes.

Custis was stood before the bed, shirtless, disheveled, filthy, teeth bared and hands twitching at his side as if desperate for something to hold onto. Morgan was before Treavor, propped up onto his good arm as he spat and hissed at Piero who stood at the door, hands out before him in a defensive yet submissive position, his eyes averted, his cheeks bright and warm.

Treavor sighed.

“Yes Piero?” He murmured groggily as rose to his elbow, looking through the gap between Morgan and Custis to his business partner and friend before he reached out to Morgan, looping his arm over the younger twin’s stomach to tug his brother back down to the bed.

Morgan complied with little more than startled look as he fell back to the bed on his back. Treavor shuffled until he was laying half on top of Morgan, his arm lazily looped over the younger twin’s waist, his head tucked safely beneath Morgan’s chin. 

An arm looped around the small of his back beneath the blanket still pooled at their waists.

“Did you need something?” Treavor asked softly, his words slightly slurred by the way his cheek pressed against Morgan’s chest.

“Well yes.” Piero began sheepishly, his eyes still firmly locked onto the window, “Anton asked me to come catalog the worst of the Lords Pendleton injures before we return to Dunwall.” The smaller man replied simply, the nervousness absent from his voice as he turned back to face the three men before him.

Treavor made some soft sound, a not quite chuckle, against Morgan’s chest as he watched Piero’s cheeks grow rosy once again, Treavor reached out to take Custis by the wrist, tugging his elder brother back to the cot.

“That’s reasonable.” Treavor mused as Custis took a seat at the edge of the cot, Piero nodded feverishly as he retrieved the spiral bound pad of paper he kept with him.

Treavor gestured to one of the seats against the wall of the coach, not at the exact opposite end, but far enough away from the cot to not disturb the brothers. Piero eyed the twins nervously as he slowly slunk down into the chair.

Just as quickly as the crimson hue had appeared on Piero’s cheeks, it faded as he began to pepper the twins with absent minded questions, the simple ‘yes’ and ‘no’ questions were answered by the twins, the more complex one Treavor answered in some manner of speaking as Morgan and Custis could not.

The three brothers had never needed to speak to communicate fluently between themselves before the incident, and their separation had done little to dwindle the silent talent.

A glance or subtle gesture was all Treavor needed from his brothers. And in these trying times it was beyond relieving to know that their silent eyes and quiet hands were still functioning as their absent tongues were most certainly not.

Though, the comfort of simply knowing that the distance, the time apart they had been forced to endure had not diminished their familiarity with one another…

The whole conversation was gut wrenching…

Guilt and self loathing bubbled beneath Treavor’s skin as Piero asked question after question.

“Were you allowed breaks during your work shifts?”

‘No’

“Were you allowed use of proper sanitary facilities?”

‘No’

“Were you given adequate housing?” 

‘No’

These were things that Treavor knew damn well the mines were lacking, and Piero, seeing as he was the one to tour the mines, also knew this… Still, the courts appreciated thoroughness… 

And then the questions took a turn…

“Were you given appropriate rations?”

‘No.’

“Were you ever disciplined on the job?”

‘Yes.’

“Can you describe the punishment you received?”

Custis glanced over to Morgan and Morgan to Custis before both twins looked to Treavor.

Treavor took a heavy breath before rising to sit beside Custis at the edge of the cot. The elder twin met his eyes before snapping his fingers, drawing Treavor’s attention down to his hand.

Treavor watched as his brother gestured and twitched his fingers in not quite sporadic and certainly not random directions, occasionally pausing to gesture to a part of his body, typically, his scars…

“They um…” Treavor began quietly, “They were beaten as disciplinary punishments…” The youngest brother paused, nibbling at his lips before continuing.

“Depending on which foreman was manning which sector the beatings could range from a simple slap, cut rations to a full beating.” Treavor swallowed thickly, “Broken bones were not uncommon… And sometimes, workers would be left to die if they couldn’t move or work afterwards…”

Treavor wasn’t ashamed as he began crying, he clenched his jaw to stifle the quiver of his voice, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about the tears.

Piero carried on.

“How many times were you on the receiving end of this form of discipline?”

Morgan paused before holding up a hand, his index finger was pressed to his thumb.

“N-Nine.” Treavor whispered.

“Did you ever sustain any grievous injuries from these disciplines?” 

Morgan gestured to his odd arm, Treavor shuddered.

“Were you provided with appropriate medical care?”

‘No.’

“Did you ever fall ill?”

‘Yes.’

Piero murmured something under his breath, “Safe to assume you failed to receive proper medical care again?”

‘Yes.’

“Were there any pest infestations at the workplace? Rats, fleas, lice?”

The twins paused before gesturing something to the youngest brother. 

“Rats mostly… Bugs were in all the sheets but no lice.” Treavor answered slowly. 

Piero hummed at that, “Would you be opposed to me checking your heads for… Tagalongs?” He asked calmly.

Morgan sat up and shrugged.

Both Custis and Treavor watched as Piero, wearing gloves like a sensible person, weeded through the shortly chopped mess of grime and hair atop Morgan’s head, grimacing every few seconds before stepping away.

“Consider yourself very lucky Lord Pendleton.” He stated, “Surprisingly, no lice, though you have evidence of bedbug activity all across the scalp.”

The three brothers grimaced, Treavor pursing his lips at the thought of the intimacy they shared the previous eve… Was he an idiot for so willingly offering himself to his brothers in such a state? Most likely.

“We’re lucky bedbugs don’t tend to live on people.” Piero mused as he approached Custis next, “They burrow into sheets and mattresses, come out when someone falls asleep on their nest and retreat once they’ve fed. But they don’t live on clothing.”

“So… What would the risk of an infestation be?” Treavor asked as Piero began to work his gloved fingers through Custis’ hair.

“Presently, quite low.” The engineer replied, “Though I would recommend getting the Lords Pendleton into a bath as soon as you arrive back at the estate and burn their garments for good measure.”

Piero looked over to Treavor, “I’m more concerned about the possible diseases they may have gathered from such pests. But that would be something for a doctor to diagnose once they’re put into the hospital.”

Treavor nodded silently, thoughtfully…

“I’d also recommend therapy.” Piero stated as he moved away from Custis, tugging off the gloves as he returned to his seat, “Of course, I’m no doctor… But events such as these leave far deeper wounds than the ones just on the skin.”

Treavor nodded again…

“If there is anything else you can think of, anything the happened, anything that you think should be brought to our attention, kindly let me know now.” Piero said as he looked between the Pendleton twins.

Morgan shook his head stiffly and Custis offered an atypical note of negation.

“Then I believe we are done here.” Piero replied simply with a nod. Treavor sighed through his nose before he offered the shorter man a calm, “Will you be returning your notes to Anton now or later?” 

Piero paused to look between the three brothers before shaking his head, “I best get these to Anton now. You know how he gets.” Treavor offered a small smile and a nod as Piero stood.

“Terribly sorry for the disturbance, but I figured this was important enough to wake you all.” With that, Piero scampered out of the coach once more.

There was a tense pause between the three brothers before Treavor groaned and slumped against Custis’ side, his damp cheek was pressed to his brother’s shoulder and his hands scrambled to hold Custis’

“I’m sorry…” Treavor breathed hoarsely, “I’m so… Fuck. I’m so sorry.” Custis exhaled gently against the top of Treavor’s head before pressing a kiss into his baby brother’s hair. It was a soft, familiar gesture…

A hand settled at Treavor’s shoulder as Morgan crowded close. A wordless coo (“It’s alright… It’s alright”) Was pressed to his throat as the younger twin tucked his chin over Treavor’s shoulder.

“It is not alright…” Treavor seethed exhaustedly, “None of this is alright. I-” Custis’ hand reached up to firmly grip Treavor’s jaw, silencing their baby brother’s warbles.

Custis nodded to Treavor slowly, once, as his hand settled at Treavor’s chest, middle finger pressed just to the hollow of his throat, the other fingers splayed out.

Morgan moved away from Treavor’s side as the elder twin gently forced Treavor back down onto the cot.

Treavor watched, silent and ashamed as Custis settled between his thighs, his hands warm and comforting against Treavor’s skin, no matter how filthy they were…

“I’m sorry…” Teavor tried again, this time Custis shook his head, he leaned close and kissed Treavor sweetly. 

The front of the shirt and jacket Treavor had slept in were tugged open, further revealing the expanse of the younger brother’s belly and chest. Custis shifted then, tugging down the rim of his pants to free his stiffening prick. 

Treavor made some move to touch is brother but Custis ‘t’k’d’ at him with a shake of his head before taking Treavor by the wrist and pressing his hands to the cot.

Treavor swallowed and nodded.

Custis kissed him again, a brief, fleeting peck as he sat back up. Fingers trailed down Treavor’s torso, Custis cocked his brow. 

Treavor knew exactly what his brother wanted… There were times when Treavor doubted his position in the family, doubted his worth… 

Custis spat messily into his palm, slicking his hand before reaching low to begin stroking himself, watching the baby brother beneath him intently as he did so.

Treavor kept his wrists where they were, just as Custis had requested. He could feel the heat of his brother seeping through the seat of his pants… It had been so long since he had felt another’s warmth so close, so intimate… 

Morgan made some noise to Treavor’s left, Custis ‘clicked’ in agreement. The cot dipped again as Morgan knelt by Treavor’s head, nearly as he had the previous night.

Morgan had Treavor close his eyes, and there he found himself, laid out between his brother, listening to the sound of their breathing, their panting, their hands on their cocks.

He waited, still, patient, anxious for the first spurt of hot seed to splatter against him, warm his skin and roll, pool, gather across him.  
His brothers so loved to see him painted with their spend, messy and so indescribably beautiful…

Morgan purred above him, the head of his prick tapping against Treavor’s cheek as a drop of pre smeared against the side of his nose, Treavor offered a quiet, throaty mewl.

Custis chuckled through a sharp breath, the sound of slick palm on wet prick, frantic and close, had Treavor’s hands grasping nothing.  
“Please?” Treavor whispered hardly above the sound of his brother’s breaths, “Please… I missed you. It’s been so long…”

Custis cooed something sweet and wordless as his hand settled to rub Treavor through his pants. The younger brother keened and rolled his hips up into the hand.

The touch was light, teasing, and Treavor was weak, so very weak… He sobbed and shuddered, Morgan huffed some snicker, unbeknownst to Treavor, looking to his twin expectantly. 

The pressure against Treavor’s clothed prick intensified, and by then Treavor couldn’t give much of a damn about spilling himself in his pants, Custis’ hand was everything Treavor needed then, everything and more.

And apparently, watching his twin fondle their baby brother was enough for Morgan to finish.

The first spurt of seed landed on Treavor’s brow, thick and hot. Treavor could feel it slowly, sluggishly begin to roll up his forehead, but there was little time to ponder or revel in the sensation.

Treavor opened his mouth to breath as another smattering of seed fell across the center of his face, just between his eyes and over the bridge of his nose and cheek, too close for comfort, and he did not want to accidentally inhale his brother’s spend again.

By the time Morgan had finally finished Treavor was a right mess, seed smeared across his cheeks and chin, some pooled across his tongue, his forehead and eyes were encased with a thick layer of Morgan’s spend.

Treavor shuddered as the seed on his face began to dribble down to his hairline, he’d deal with it later, but for now he was more than happy to lay there and be pretty for his brothers.

Custis made some keened sound through his frantic panting, Treavor couldn’t see his oldest brother, couldn’t open his eyes, but he could feel Custis watching him, feel Custis taking in every detail of the mess his twin had left on their baby brother’s face.

Oh, and it was perfect.

Treavor mewled something desperate as Custis roughly unbuttoned the front of his pants, tugging the fly down to pull Treavor’s dripping prick from the confines of his pants.

It took hardly a ginger touch to have Treavor spilling into his brother’s palm. His back arched off the bed as Custis continued to stroke and tease along his length. Blisfull torture, devine bordering on painful.

Treavor mewled as he rocked into his brother’s palm, gasping Custis’ name as his cock twitched again, so soon after his first.  
The eldest twin grunted heatedly as he finished himself off.

Treavor’s mouth fell slack as slick heat splattered and landed across his stomach and chest, Morgan ran a hand through Treavor’s hair as their baby brother shuddered.

The mess Custis left across Treavor was nowhere near as concentrated as Morgan’s, but it was just as deliciously hot.

The twins sat back, admiring their work as their baby brother basked in their presence.

The silence was only broken as Custis leaned close to kiss Treavor again, not at all concerned with the seed coating the youngest brother’s cheeks and chin.

Treavor mewled into Custis mouth, soft and sweet, breathing a quiet little, “Love you.” Past his brother’s lips without regard.

Morgan crawled along Treavor’s side to settle beside his twin and younger brother, stealing kisses whenever Custis drew breathless.

They stayed like that for a long while, simply laying together on the cot, kissing and breathing one another, touching one another. It was a sensual sort of interaction, a kind which all three had longed for during those dark months apart.

Treavor made no attempt to clean himself, he knew his brothers wanted him just as he was, so he allowed his brothers to kiss him in his messy, messy state.

He sighed softly as one of the twins began to touch him again.

He sobbed in delight as, Custis this time, dribbled his seed in and around Treavor’s mouth and lips, the baby brother greedily swallowing down everything his brother offered.

He mewled as Morgan tugged down his pants further to paint his thighs white.

And as desperate as he was to return home…

Treavor was nearly disappointed as he wiped away the seed still smattered across his cheeks with the bedsheets as they pulled up the drive to the estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We honestly have no idea where this is going now.  
> Inspire us in the comments if you would be so kind.


	9. Nesting Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins return to a nostalgically unfamiliar home where they meet a few new staff members.  
> One is sweet.  
> One is scary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wanted the twins to meet Treavor's new posy.  
> We hope we don't disappoint you.

Treavor hadn’t been lying when he said he renovated the house.

  
Gone were cool grey walls and high arches, tiled floor and heavy drapery, replaced by warm wood paneling and massive, sprawling windows.

  
Aesthetically, it appeared horrendously out of place amidst the proud, brooding abodes of their fellow aristocrats… Nobles were a private sort, Morgan and Custis were no exceptions. At any other point in their lives they would have hated the sheer vulnerability the new windows imparted in them…

  
But stepping into the foyer, the new foyer of their old, ancestral home...

  
It was as if they hadn’t stepped inside at all…

  
It was late when they arrived, the sun low in the sky, but still warm. Pre-dusk light wafted through the windows, casting the room in a golden hue… The various potted plants sat about the atrium made the whole room smell fresh and clean…

  
Treavor shifted before his brothers nervously, looking to the floor bashfully as a dainty hue tugged at his cheeks. “I told you I got into gardening, didn’t I?” He asked softly, glancing to his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

  
They both nodded, their younger brother sighed softly before pausing as frantic footfalls rounded the corner.

  
Cecelia was speed walking out of the corridor leading to the library and study halls, eyes wide, cheeks rosy, her outfit, a simple hand suite with pants because Treavor wouldn’t force her to wear a skirt if she didn’t want to, was a tad disheveled, but that was common enough for Cecelia.

  
Her demeanor went from slightly nervous to full blown delighted once she took notice to the others in the room.

  
“Treavor!” She called brightly as she turned on a dime and B-lined for the younger Lord, not quite skipping as she approached though prancing wasn’t a too far off description.

  
She gleefully tugged Treavor into a tight hug once she drew close enough, as always.

  
“Cecelia.” Treavor replied calmly once the petite woman released him, there was a certain inquisitiveness in his tone, the sort he used when he wanted to know a little bit of everything, a tone which Cecelia caught onto immediately.

  
“Oh!” The younger woman piped excitedly, “No fatalities to report!” She began jovially, “Wallace kept us all in line in your absence, but he almost blew a gasket when the chef’s new apprentice, you’ll like him I’m sure, brought his ratter hound to work.”

  
Cecelia chattered excitedly about the small grey and black dog she had seen earlier the other day, “The little tyke had a mustache Treavor!” She said, “The good boy caught three rats in the basement before Wallace relented and allowed Ahndre, the chef’s new apprentice, to keep him around. His name is Picket! The dog, that is.”

  
Treavor nodded, reaching out to straighten Cecelia’s lie as she continued speaking about what had occurred in his absence.

  
“Lydia’s order of Serkonian Sunflowers arrived yesterday afternoon, she said she’ll have them all planted by Sunday and Calista said that the young Empress said hello!”

  
Cecelia paused, nibbling at her lower lip thoughtfully before snapping her fingers, “Also! Lady Lydia has invited you to tea on friday. She sighed herself as ‘Lady Lydia Boyle’ and wrote the whole thing in dark blue ink, I think she’s mad at you…”

  
Treavor grimaced and nodded.

  
He then noticed how oddly to one side Cecelia was leaning… Looking past his arm as she was too short to look over his shoulder.

  
“Are these your brother?” She asked, her voice flooded with concern as she looked them up and down before returning her gaze to Treavor, lips pursed tightly.

  
“They are.” Treavor confirmed, Cecelia looked to the twins again, and then back to Treavor, before she stepped around Treavor to approach the twins.

  
“Treavor’s been dead worried about you, you know.” She said simply, a hollow sort of smile tugging at her lips as she spoke, “We’ve been keeping him busy best we could while you’ve been off..."

  
She offered her hand despite the disheveled appearance of the two before her. “We’ll get you settled and on the mend in no time.”

  
Morgan was the first to take the hand, Cecelia beamed.

  
Treavor watched the interaction with solemnly bright eyes… He was home, back with his friends and now family… Things would be alright…

  
“Hows about I draw them a bath?” Cecelia asked, “No offence, but they look like they could use one.” Treavor nodded, “If you would.”

  
Cecelia grinned, “It’s what you pay me for Treavor.” She chimed, “I assume you’ll want them in their room?”

  
The younger brother nodded. And no sooner had Celicia begun to skip off did she stop again.

  
“Oh! Piero!”

  
Treavor huffed a small, light chuckle as rolled his eyes, “They’ll be like this for another hour.” He sighed as he moved to stand just by Custis’s shoulder, watching as the two chittered to one another excitedly.

  
It was no longer strange to see the vibrant ball of life Cecelia and the shut in genius Piero murmuring feverishly to one another. Their meeting had been a strange one, but their friendship evolved naturally thereafter, they were happy together.

  
Treavor gently took hold of Custis’ wrist, guiding the elder twin towards the stairs leading to the family wind.

  
“Everything is pretty well the same.” Treavor mused quietly once they reached the upper landing which led to the west hall, “I just… It was so dark… I never noticed how dark it was, I couldn’t stand it.” Treavor murmured, glancing to the window which gazed out to the street.

  
“The floor design is identical, I didn’t relocate any rooms, only the walls.” Treavor stated smoothly with a nod to himself, his pace slowing ever so slightly as Morgan gently knocked his shoulder against Treavor’s, silently encouraging the youngest brother to continue.

  
“I haven’t touched the office… Or your rooms…” He breathed, pausing to turn to the twins with nervous eyes.

  
“They’re still the same, just as you left them…”

  
The twins nodded, once, Treavor smiled a soft, little smile before he turned back down the corridor.

  
True to their little brother’s word, the twins’ room was… Impeccable. Exactly as they had left it all those months ago… The curtains still drawn, beds still made, the closet, their cloths all the same and…

  
Neither found themselves able to step through the threshold…

  
“It’s dark…” Treavor murmured quietly, just behind them, nearly scaring the two out of their skin as he passed into the room.

  
The air was still, stale, heavy. Treavor tugged open the drapes, casting rows of late evening sun across the floor but it didn’t help, not in the slightest.

  
The twins refused to move.

  
“I hate it too…” Treavor sighed as he returned to his brothers, “I won’t ask you to stay here the night. In fact, I’d rather you in my bed.”

His hand gently took hold of Custis’ wrist, guiding the eldest twin just past the awning.

  
“But we need to get you cleaned, and your room has the largest tub.”

  
Morgan snickered, oddly without his tongue, at the statement as he slunk into the bedroom after his twin. Custis merely huffed something unspoken at his twin while his hand tucked itself into Treavor’s, squeezing gently.

  
The washroom was dim, much like the rest of the twins’ room, but the fluorescent light overhead chased away the gloom well enough.

Morgan and Custis watched silently as their younger brother fluttered about, gathering supplies, towels and a few of the more sensitive washes from the closet, drawing water for the bath…

  
It was strange to see their baby brother acting in such a way… Before, they, Morgan and Custis, would be the ones to pace about, indulging in such activities for the comfort of Treavor…

The reversal of roles was… Strange… To the point where the twins nearly felt guilty for forcing their little brother to care for them as he had been, they were adults, the elder brothers, they shouldn’t have been just loitering around…

  
But they were tired… Exhausted even, and sore.

  
Their bones arched, their skin itched, they were filthy… The closest they had gotten to a bath in the past, agonizing months, were the few times it had rained. Where everyone else hunkered down inside to avoid the cold, they had stepped outside into the downpour to scrub away whatever grim they could…

  
They wanted to help their baby brother, they did… But there was little they could do. Simply standing was a chore.

  
The water was warm when they stepped into the bath, not scolding, not as hot as they would have had it on any given day… But even the just warm water was blissfully devine on their skin.

  
A vile, oily sheen flowed out atop the surface of the water as the twins sunk down and they didn’t miss their baby brother’s grimace, nor the regret pooling at the edges of his eyes.

  
“I…” Treavor began softly, the smallest of tremors tugging at his throat as he spoke, “Do you want me to stay?”

  
Morgan silently reached out with his wonky arm and took Treavor by the wrist, squeezing gently, pleadingly… Treavor merely nodded as he took a seat beside the tub, resting his chin just at the rim…

  
The twins bathed in silence, lathering their broken, beaten bodies with washes, scrubbing away the grime, draining and refilling the water when needed before beginning all over again.

  
Thankfully, their heads were kept sheered short so washing their hair was far less of a hassle than it could have been, through Treavor did end up offering his hands when Morgan struggled to properly maneuver his poorly healed arm to scrub his hair.

  
The younger twin purred and keened in delight as Treavor ran his fingers against his scalp, Custis watched on, not pouting, (“I do not ‘pout’ Treavor.”) As his twin bathed in their baby brother’s affection.

  
It was grueling and tiring to rid the twins of the months worth of accumulated muck clinging to their skin, and by the time both themselves and Treavor deemed them clean enough, it was well past midnight.

  
“Do you think you could dry off yourself?” Treavor asked as he rose from his seat on the floor, pants and lap wet with water, “I know it’s late but… Well, I know you must be hungry.”

  
Custis was the first to rise from the draining tub, the water foggy with suds but not dark with grime, he took a single towel for himself and tossed the other at his twin’s head.

  
The small snicker Treavor allowed passed his lips was beyond beautiful…

  
Custis chuffed through his nose before nodding to the door. Treavor leaned close to press a ginger kiss to the edge of the elder twin’s mouth before turning away and slipping from the room.

  
Morgan’s head came to rest at Custis’ shoulder, his body folding against his twin’s back. Custis took a deep, shuddered breath as he pressed his cheek to the top of Morgan’s head before pressing the towel to his shoulder, gathering the water still clinging to his skin.

  
The younger twin huffed inquisitively against his twin’s neck, a wordless question before he stepped away to resume drying himself.

Words had never been necessary between them, their language was silent, comprised of glances and gestures.

  
Custis clucked something in return, the unspoken sound harsh but heatless. Morgan understood, Morgan always understood…

  
Custis hardly flinched as Morgan slapped him, not too, too hard, just enough to sting. The younger twin grinned up at Custis, and wryly, as he brought a hand to his cheek, Custis returned the expression.

This was no fever dream.

  
:

  
The room, the twin’s bedroom was still uncomfortably dark as they stepped out of the bathroom, even more so with the absence of the sun, still, they sat at the edge of the bed dressed in the familiar, soft sleepwear Treavor had retrieved from their closets.

  
Gloom aside… They were feeling better.

  
Their skin no longer itched with grime, they were clean and warm, still hungry, but that would be rectified soon enough, they smelled like pine and cinnamon…

  
Morgan leaned against Custis’ shoulder with a shuddered sigh…

  
They were home… They had survived, their baby brother had saved them, they were home…

  
Custis nosed the top of Morgan’s head, exhaling gently before pressing a light kiss to his twin’s hair. A rough rapping at the door didn’t see the two separate, merely tense as a young woman, not as young as the other, Cecelia, but younger than the twins, entered the room carrying a tray.

  
She appeared somewhat disheveled, still in her sleepwear, as if she had just woken up which, given the time of night, wouldn’t have surprised either twin in the slightest. She looked them over silently, her expression far more firm than Cecelia’s, and her tone even more so.

  
“I’m assuming you're the reason Treavor came barreling into my room at one in the bloody morning yelling about soup?” The twins couldn’t help but avert their eyes.

  
“There I am in bed, dreaming of something, can’t be damned to remember, when all I hear is Treavor, calling my name like the Outsider is about to start gnawing on his knees.” She huffed as she offered Custis a bowl of soup, plain tomato.

  
“Of course, I get up, because that’s what friends do when their friends sound like their being murdered out in the hallway.” Morgan excepted his bowl graciously.

  
“Didn’t even bother grabbing a shirt, so I step out into the hall, tits out, to find Treavor pacing like a madman, I swear that man was going to wear through the floor.”

  
Custis nearly choked.

  
The woman shook her head, but her smile was sincere.

  
“He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that I was damn well near naked, just took me by the shoulders and said that I needed to go to the kitchens and cook two bowl of soup.” She shrugged, walking across the room to lean against the wall, casually, as if she… Hadn’t just said what she had said.

  
“Course he asked nice enough. But believe me, I had half a mind to not get dressed just to see how long it would take him to notice.”  
Morgan snickered at that.

  
“The name’s Lydia by the way.” She mused, “Yes, I know I share a name with the eldest Boyle, yes I have met her, charming woman, for an Aristocrat.” She looked to the twins then, eyes piercing.

  
“I like Treavor quite a fair bit.” She said, “I may be an employee of this estate, but I also consider myself a damn good friend of that mess of a man.” She crossed her arms and sighed.

  
“I don’t know how fucked up your relation to Treavor is. And I don’t care.” The twins sat up at that, suddenly… Unnerved. Treavor seemed quite content to display his affections for them to the small man on the coach… Something that, before, would never have been tolerated, by any of them.

  
“Treavor has finally sorted a good deal of his life out. If you two jeopardize any part of it. I can garentee whatever hell you’ve been through these past few months will feel like a fucking cakewalk in comparison to whatever we cook up for you.”

  
Lydia crossed her arms, expression challenging and calm.

  
“Don’t. Hurt. Him.”

  
The twins could only nod, slowly.

  
And just like that, the woman before them smiled bright as the sun before approaching to collect the empty bowls.

  
“Brilliant.” She chimed, “I take it you know the way to Treavor’s room?”

  
Without looking for confirmation, she turned and disappeared through the door.

  
By the time the twins slipped from the room, Lydia had slipped into the servant halls within the walls.

  
:::

  
Treavor was hunched over his small writing desk by the time the twins arrived at his room, the youngest brother paused his writing to look over his shoulder, smiling upon catching sight of his brothers gazing about the room.

  
Treavor’s room, much like the rest of the house, had been renovated to accommodate more windows than straight walls, the ceiling was practically one massive skylight.

  
Plants littered nearly every available surface. The wooden panelling was warm underfoot and whatever drapery hung about the windows was light and airy…

  
The room was homey and picturesque… Comfortable.

  
Treavor approached after scribbling a closing line on his letter. His hair was damp, evidently he had taken the liberty of showering while the twins ate.

  
He touched Custis’ shoulder first in greeting, a ginger caress of the light sleepwear his elder brother wore.

  
“Are you tired?” Treavor asked softly, both Custis and Morgan nodded, the elder twin sighed through his nose as he stepped closer to their baby brother, setting his hands at Treavor’s waist before leaning close to nose at the side of Treavor’s neck.

  
Treavor in turn looped his arms around Custis’ back as he allowed himself to be walked to the bed, falling back beneath Custis once the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

  
The three of them fell together naturally, Morgan curled at Treavor’s back, Custis pressed to his front…

  
They were warm together on the bed, beneath the plush sheets.

  
“Missed you…” Treavor breathed into the gentle string of kisses Custis had pulled him into. The intimacy there in Treavor’s bed was slow and lethargic, the younger brother doubted anything would come of the kisses his brothers were pressing into his skin.

  
And honestly, he was fine with that…

  
Sometimes they needed to simply be with one another in such soft ways…

  
“Missed you so much…” Treavor murmured against Morgan next, as the younger twin slipped a hand beneath his night shirt, running his palm over Treavor’s stomach, simply feeling the younger body beside him.

  
“I’ll get you help… Call in a doctor, bring in whatever specialists we need… I’m going to fix this.” Custis sighed through his nose before drawing Treavor into another kiss, silencing the baby brother’s words.

  
Treavor felt guilty… The could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes… And perhaps they were angry with their little brother, he wasn’t exactly blameless, they knew well enough that Treavor had been gallerbanting with the conspiracists…

  
But they hadn’t taken him seriously when he had come to them all those months ago, begging for them to listen, to leave…

  
Treavor mewled sweetly into Custis’ mouth before he turned his head away, snatching a greedy breath as Morgan drew him into another slow kiss.

  
Custis tucked himself closer to nibble at Treavor’s throat, decorating the pale strip of flesh with bruises Treavor would complain about later. Custis didn’t care, he wanted to leave his mark on his baby brother, and he knew damn well that Morgan had been busying himself with Treavor’s shoulders.

  
Treavor sighed against Morgan’s lips as they parted for a brief reprise… Humming softly as Morgan returned to him.

  
Neither of the three knew who fell asleep first that night. They were all tired, overwhelmed from the events of the day…

  
Sleep was a rare treat in the mines, and an elusive beast for Treavor over the past months.

  
But that eve, bundled together for the first time in what felt like forever… The three slipped into the awaiting abyss as easily as they fit together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for future fluffy times.


	10. Unnerved Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night home is now quite as peaceful as the brothers would have liked...
> 
> They get by as best they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two uploads in a weekend? We feel like We're spoiling you fools.

Treavor expected to wake between his brothers, just as he had fallen asleep, Morgan curled comfortably at his back, Custis snug to his front, warm and safe just as they had been, just as they should have been over the past few months…

  
It was Sunday, Treavor had cleared his schedule, stockpiled his holidays in order to retrieve his brothers. He had the rest of the week off…

  
He could spend all day in bed with his brothers if he so chose, hunkered down beneath the blankets, pressed so close to one another that the end of one body would be indistinguishable from another…

  
Treavor knew his desire to stay in bed was unrealistic, he knew eventually they would need to eat breakfast, take a shower, get dressed, go to the hospital, whatever have you.

  
As much as Treavor would have liked to spend the week lazing about with his brothers, there was much to do, and little time to do it.  
But one lazy morning wouldn’t hurt...

  
Unfortunately, there would be no lazy morning that day.

  
Treavor awoke to a sudden chill, the bed violently jostling and heavy breathing, hushed gasps and wordless comforts.

  
It was early… The morning still dark outside the bedroom window…

  
The blankets had been pulled awkwardly halfway off Treavor’s body by Morgan who was sat up, hunched over his knees, shivering and shuddering there in the darkness.

  
Custis was propped up on his elbow, his free hand reaching over Treavor to rest at his twin’s shoulder… The elder twins’ mouth moved rapidly despite the lack of recognizable words passing his lips.

  
Custis was breathing just as heavily as Morgan, his hand and arm shook as he tried to comfort his twin…

  
They were both terrified...

  
“Nightmare?” Treavor guessed softly as he slowly rolled over to face the younger twin.

  
Both brothers jolted at the sound of his voice, their eyes widening in the dark as they slowly turned to face Treavor.

  
“You were back there… Weren’t you?” Treavor asked simply, “Back in the mines?”

  
Morgan’s silhouette nodded slowly, Treavor grimaced…

  
There were some nights in the pub where Treavor would dream of his brothers. Some were horrible, sometimes the brothers’ in Treavor’s dreams would rage and scream at him, blame him, hurt him…

  
Treavor would wake with a sharp intake of breath, typically moments before death would claim his dream counterpart…

  
Other times… The dreams would be sweet… Sometimes they would be memories, pleasant memories of time spent with his brothers, talking or sitting with his brothers, dreams of simply being with his brothers, soft and quiet in their bed…

  
Those dreams were worse… Treavor would wake, mistaking his dreams for reality only to find himself alone and then… Then his heart would break all over again and he would weep…

  
Treavor knew how torturous nights could be… He knew exactly how the night could play tricks on fragile minds…

  
But he could only imagine how horrible it must have been for his brothers… To dream of home only to wake to hell… And now, to dream of hell, safe at home...

  
“Come here…” The youngest brother sighed tiredly as he opened his arms, reaching out for Morgan’s still quaking form in the darkness.

  
There was a sparse moment between Treavor gently calling for his brother and the time it took for Treavor’s hand to find Morgan’s shoulder.

  
The small gesture of Treavor touching Morgan seemed to finally reaffirm that, yes, they were… There...

  
Treavor slowly drew the younger twin back down to the bed, tugging the blankets Morgan had pulled away in his bid of fright back over them as he tucked Morgan’s head beneath his chin, similarly to how Custis so loved to hold him…

  
Morgan shook and sobbed silently against his baby brother, a quivering mess of a man, afraid and sorrowed.

  
No words escaped Morgan’s throat, only shaky breaths and ragged pants as he desperately drew air into his lungs.

  
Treavor crooned sweet and soft against his brother’s head, the not quite sheered skull prickly against his cheek, not that he cared all that much…

  
“You’re safe now…” Treavor whispered, “You’re home… You’re home.” He didn’t bother trying to pacify his brothers with saccharine lies and promises, things were not fine, things would never be fine…

  
“You’re not there anymore… You’re with me, you’re with Custis… You’re home…”

  
Custis curled around Treavor’s back at the mention of his name, looping an arm over the younger brother’s waist to curl around Morgan’s back, offering silent support.

  
Morgan’s breathing continued to rattle past his lips as he sobbed, Treavor could feel warm tears smear against his throat everytime Morgan attempted to press himself closer to the body before him, despite there not being a sliver of space between them…

  
Treavor made no move to pry his brother away. Morgan needed this right now… So Treavor looped his arms around the younger twin and held him firm.

  
At some point, Treavor began to hum a soft melody, a little song Lydia had taught him during one of his worst days at the Hounds Pit, he forgot the words, she had sung them so softly back then, but he knew the tune.

  
It wasn’t quite a lullaby, but it wasn’t something to dance to either, it was one of those… Absent minded tunes you would find yourself humming without realizing.

  
It was slow and airy, not melancholy, somehow… Weighted, in a way.

  
Morgan fell back asleep listening and feeling the soft song reverberate through Treavor’s chest.

  
Custis leaned close to kiss his baby brother’s temple before he too settled back down.

  
Treavor lay awake for a good while after his two brothers returned to their dreaming…

  
Wondering if… Things would ever be alright…

  
It was… Unnerving, to see his brothers in such sorry states. He knew things would be different, they would have to be different… But he never thought to truly consider how different…

  
Morgan and Custis may be the older brothers… They may have been the ones watching over Treavor some years ago. Doting on him, soothing him, encouraging and supporting him… Loving him…

  
But Morgan and Custis needed help now, needed Treavor’s help now.

  
Things would be different.

  
Things were already different…

  
Treavor sighed and finally relaxed back into the bed, cocooned between his brothers, warm and snug and safe…

  
He would deal with the problems which would inevitably arise as they came.

  
Just as he had when his brother’s first left him…

  
And this time, he had the security in knowing that he wasn’t quite so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a more serious note, we have two assignments due within the next two weeks so We'll be gone for a while, University is a bitch indeed, We'll maybe try to make time for an upload sometime next weekend because We know We'll get sick of writing reports and essays eventually, but other than that don't expect much from us.
> 
> One more thing! We don't exactly know where we want this story to go anymore, We were thinking of putting it into a series with the main story as the first part and a bunch of random one-shots as the second so we can keep one part as completed and the other in some hazy purgatory.
> 
> If you have any ideas for one-shots or drabbles, let us know, we'd appreciate some inspiration and prompts.


	11. Birds With Ruffled Feathers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAVE SOME FUCKING FLUFF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're thinking of putting this shitshow into a series maybe?  
> Like the first part being in game.  
> Second part just all these loose one-shots.

The three slept through the rest of the night without another incident, which was a blessing all things considered.

  
Custis was already awake by the time Treavor’s eyes began to flutter, Morgan was still tucked to his throat, dead to the world, and Treavor was perfectly fine with allowing his older brother to catch a few more undisturbed hours of rest.

  
Treavor knew he needed them...

  
“Hey…” Treavor sighed softly as he turned his head to look up at the oldest brother just behind him, Custis was sat against the headboard reading a book, a familiar book mind you, the sight brought a nostalgic smile to Treavor’s lips…

  
Custis was an early riser, always had been, always would be. But he never had the heart to leave whatever bed they ended up sharing before the others woke, so he would always read in the mornings as he waited for Treavor and Morgan to rise.

  
Treavor recalled that Custis had only just picked up the exact book he was reading a week or so before they marched off to the Golden Cat…

  
That seemed like forever ago…

  
“Book any good?” Treavor asked lazily through a quiet yawn. Custis merely raised a hand and made a vague ‘so-so’ motion, Treavor huffed lightly.

  
He had been the one to recommend the book to his brother, and he thought it was quite good.

  
“How long have you been up?” Treavor broached next with a glance towards the window, it was still morning and the clock only ready 7:34. Treavor hoped that Custis hadn’t been reading all night…

  
Custis snapped his fingers twice to get Treavor’s attention back on him before he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to his pinky.

  
“... Since six?” Treavor hazard, recognizing the gesture well enough, Custis nodded slowly.

  
Treavor sighed and turned back to settle his cheek against the pillows, setting his chin back over Morgan’s head.

  
“Cecelia will be barging into my room at around eight” He mumbled softly, Custis made some undignified noise at the back of his throat.  
“Just don’t question it.” Treavor chimed, “She usually beats me with one of the pillows if I refuse to wake up, it’s just how she is. You’ll learn to love her, trust me.”

Treavor could feel his brother’s disgruntled expression burning into the back of his skull, but he merely pressed himself closer to Morgan and enjoyed the warmth of his brother…

  
It had been so long since he had awoken in a warm bed...

The sound of a book page occasionally turning and the soft exhales Morgan breathed against Treavor’s throat, were familiar and comforting… Treavor was tempted to fall back asleep, or at least continue his dozing until Cecelia came barging in.

  
Which that day, for whatever reason, she decided to do early.

  
At exactly 7:45, there were three sharp raps at the door, followed by a shameless and partly giggled.

  
_“Are you three naked in there!”_

  
Treavor groaned tiredly into the short cropping of Morgan’s hair, rousing Morgan from his dreaming though not quite waking him fully, while Custis snorted in a most undignified matter.

  
Moments later the door flew wide open as Cecelia, bright-eyed and far too goddamn happy for this early in the morning, strolled into the room, smiling brilliantly as she skipped over to the bed, snagging a small pillow from the end of the bed as she approached.

  
“Good morning sunshine!” She chirped excitedly, Treavor cracked an eye open and looked up to the younger woman.

  
“What would you have done if we had been naked?”

  
Cecelia rolled her eyes and held up the pillow she had taken hostage, “Same thing I do every morning Teacakes.” She replied merrily before promptly turning tail and heading to a set of drawstrings beside the door, pillow tucked under her arm.

  
The upper blinds began to disappear above them, revealing a gentle blue sky with a few clouds here and there, the sun was bright and warm. Cecelia left the ground drapes where they were, offering the three brothers some privacy.

  
She then punched the pillow she was holding. Twice. Threateningly.

  
Treavor merely groaned.

  
 _“Ah! Ah! Ah!”_ Cecelia chided, “You know the rules Treavor! Up by eight or I get to beat you to death with the pillow!”

  
The three brothers glanced to the clock.

  
“It’s only 7:53!” Treavor whined.

  
“Yea well, the Boyle sisters will be here at 9:00 so, up, up, up!”

  
“I haven’t even sent out my reply yet…” Treavor grumbled as he sat, leaning against Custis’ side as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  
Cecelia paused for all of three seconds before reaching into her back pocket to retrieve a loose slip of somewhat crinkled paper.

  
“This arrived this morning.” She said simply as she offered Treavor the letter.

  
The ink was red.

  
Treavor read it over quickly, Custis skimmed it from over Treavor’s shoulder and Morgan watched them both from his comfortable sprawl atop the bed.

  
The youngest brother heaved the most defeated sigh the twins had ever heard before tugging away the covers and nearly vaulting over Morgan’s prone form to head to the bathroom.

  
“Shall I stall them if they arrive early?” Cecelia called after the youngest brother.

  
 _“Please!”_ Treavor called back through the crack in the door.

  
Cecelia nodded to herself before offering the twins a clumsy curtsy and skipping out the door.

  
Morgan gingerly hauled himself to sit beside his twin, being mindful of his wonky arm, to properly read the missive…

  
And oh boy- they could damn well _feel_ just how pissed off Lydia was through the ink.

  
And honestly, she had a right to be...

  
But then… Another odd thought crossed their minds.

  
They knew their little brother was far from innocent when it came to the conspiracy against the Lord Regent’s regime… But they never thought to consider just how many enemies Treavor had made in their absence…

  
It was a most worrying thought…

  
Typically, they were the ones to face backlash in the courts and from the people, Treavor had never had to stand alone because they were always with him…

  
But for all those months, Treavor had been… Standing alone, and apparently thriving…

  
The missive Lydia had sent over was nothing short of feverish scrawl. Apparently they were not the only members of nobility to go missing during the Lord Regent’s regime.

  
Waverly had also apparently been a target, and from what Morgan and Custis could gather from the letter, Treavor… Knew.

  
That revelation wasn’t at all surprising, of course Treavor knew, he was part of the conspiracy after all… And unfortunately, though of course, understandably, certain things had to remain a secret...

  
Treavor emerged from the bathroom some time later, toweling his hair, and wearing nothing but his britches.

  
“I do hate leaving you like this.” He chartered quickly as he paced about his room, picking out clothing, tossing them onto the bed before approaching Custis and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

  
Custis stole a good breath and sighed… Treavor smelled like a soft combination of earth and spices… He had never realized how much he missed-

  
“But Lydia and Esma will kill me if I don’t see them this morning.” Treavor continued as he stepped back to begin tugging on his clothing.

  
“You’re welcome to come down and say hello if you feel up to it. They’ll probably be here for a good while yelling at me if they don’t kill me at the door.”

  
Morgan snorted at that and Treavor smiled before shuffling close, intending to kiss his cheek but Morgan, ever the fox, sneaked a proper peck of lips before Treavor could rebuke.

  
Treavor made a show of playfully shoving his older brother back onto the bed before he returned to buttoning up his shirt.

  
“Cheeky.” He snipped affectionately as he rose.

  
“I’m not sure if I’ll be back anytime soon.” Treavor sighed as he slipped a tie around his neck, “If you choose to stay in bed all day, which personally, I think you should, you deserve rest… But I still expect you two to get break-”

  
Treavor paused, his words stilling across his tongue before he swore loudly and turned to the door.

  
“Shit, shit, shit, shit- Cecelia!” He called abruptly and no sooner had her name flown from his lips did she appear at the door again.

  
“Are the Boyle sisters expecting breakfast?” Treavor asked quickly, Cecelia blinked before shrugging…

  
“Beats me.” She replied casually, “All I know is that Lady Lydia addressed you with your full name, in red ink, without doing her pretty swirly handwriting.”

  
Treavor swore again and ran a hand through his still damp hair.

  
Cecelia heaved the most exasperated sigh she could muster, _“Fiiiiiiine.”_ She huffed, flashing Treavor a bright, cheeky smile, “I’ll get the kettle on. You.” She jabbed a finger in Treavor’s direction.

  
“Get your ass downstairs and get your shit together. They’ll be here any minute.”

  
Treavor held up his hands in a surrendering motion as Cecelia skipped back out the door.

  
He then turned to the clock and swore again before nearly running out the door.

  
Though not without calling a hurried, “Love you both!” Over his shoulder as he ran down the hall.

  
The twins sat there in their little brother’s bed for a moment before turning towards one another and laughing softly to themselves.

  
Morgan leaned close to tuck his face into Custis’ throat, his shoulders shook slightly as his laughter dissolved into gentle sobbing.

  
Custis’ arm looped around his twin’s back to softly rub Morgan’s shoulder…

  
Things were going to be different… Things were already different, so different…

  
But…

  
Things were going to be alright...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave us a prompt in the comments if you would be so kind.


	12. Territorial Birds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Author decides to bully Wallace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still thinking on turning this into a series...

Everything was most definitely not alright.

  
Treavor reached this particular conclusion upon his way to the foyer where he was to meet Lydia and Esma Boyle. On route, he passed by Lydia Brooklane angrily watering the morning glories (who’s vines were finally beginning to latch onto the mounted trellis’).

  
Treavor knew Lydia Brooklane well enough to know that she only ever made a show of being angry while gardening if she was being petty, like if Cecelia, once again, beat her at poker, or he did something particularly stupid that warranted such behavior.

  
Most commonly however, Lydia Brooklane would pout at her flowers if she lost the game of ‘rock, paper, scissors’ she insisted Lydia Boyle and herself play whenever Lydia Boyle came over to determine who would be called ‘Lydia’.

  
It was a warm memory that often had Treavor grinning like a loon. The first time Lydia Brooklane and Lydia Boyle met was roughly a week after Waverly’s abduction, and the third visit the remaining Boyle sisters had with Treavor.

  
Rather than sweet, doting Cecelia to greet them at the door, Lydia Brooklane, in all her rough, charming glory, immediately challenged Lydia Boyle to a ‘game of wits’ as she called it, to determine who would keep the name ‘Lydia’ during their visit.

  
Treavor found the three arguing halfheartedly in the foyer, with Lydia Boyle insisting they make it ‘best out of five!’.

  
At first, as Treavor approached his friend/gardener, he thought that Lydia Brooklane had simply lost the game, meaning that she would be subjected to being called ‘Miss. Brooklane’ until Lydia Boyle left.

  
But upon meeting her eye and the very subtle, though firm purse of her lips, Treavor knew that Lydia’s apparent frustrations were far more than petty disappointment over a lost match…

  
And soon enough, Treavor found out why...

  
Lydia Boyle and Esma were standing right by the door. Looking every inch as a noble woman ought to, and not at all like the friends Treavor was so used to...

  
Treavor counted his blessings to find both noble women unarmed.

  
“Lydia, Esma.” Treavor greeted as calmly as possible, calmly, not casually, he could tell that the two women were _Pissed_ , with a capital P, italicized and everything.

  
“This is quite the unexpected surprise, had I known you two would be coming over so early I would have asked June to prepare breakfast.” Treavor mused as he strayed no closer than four paces to the two noblewomen.

  
They had been crying… Treavor could tell that much even with the impeccable foundation and blush they wore, worry began knotting in Treavor’s chest…

  
Corvo had assured him that, as far as he knew, Waverly Boyle was not dead, and if anything, she had gotten off the easiest.

  
“Lord Pendleton.” Esma Boyle clipped shortly, her tone cold enough to have Treavor conceal a very real shudder.

  
There was a pause between the three aristocrats, a lengthy, dreadful, heavy, pause… Even Miss Brooklane paused her watering to watch the three from the hall.

  
Treavor knew that Miss Brooklane, no matter how good her punch was, would not be enough to even begin stifling the hellfire burning away in the two Boyle sisters’ chests.

  
He appreciated the silent support and assurance that his corpse would be well taken care of however.

  
The stifling silence in the foyer was broken by Lady Lydia as her heels clicked their way across the floor to approach Treavor properly. Treavor’s breath caught in his throat as Lydia’s fingers delicately slipped into her breast pocket to retrieve-!

  
A… Open letter envelope…

  
Granted, it was not as dangerous as a knife or some other instrument with the potential to slit Treavor’s throat…

  
But Treavor knew, better than most, how very lethal letters such as the one Lydia was offering him, could be…

  
Gingerly, as if the envelope were the most precious, most delicate artifact in all of the Isles, Treavor plucked the letter from Lady Lydia’s fingers…

  
The parted wax seal was jarringly familiar, the family crest as well. The wax seal was a not quite gaudy shade of yellow, (“The house of hound piss!” Morgan once remarked with a bark of laughter.)

  
And imprinted onto the wax would have been the familiar coat of arms depicting, most prominently, a bone-saw and a set of crutches.

Treavor knew the crest well enough, having seen it many times before, he did not need to view the crest to know exactly where, and more importantly, who this particular letter was from.

  
Still, Treavor, more out of habit than need, took a moment, only a moment, to observe the Brisby family crest pressed into the hound piss wax before his head was roughly wrenched to the side as Lady Lydia slapped him clean across the face.

  
Lady Lydia’s strike did not hurt as much as Miss Brooklane’s punch, but Treavor allowed himself to stagger back a pace if only to make himself appear more pitiful, Lady Lydia always had a soft spot for him when they were children because he was such a spindly little thing.

  
He brought a hand to his cheek to feign his pain, little there was, as he looked to the Boyle sisters solemnly.

  
Lady Lydia returned to her place beside her sister, both regarded him coolly and with equal distaste. Treavor said nothing, he merely invited for them to follow before turning away and heading to the east wing sun room.

  
It took maybe ten paces before the sound of following heels began.

  
::

  
Custis did not like the knot in his chest…

  
It was a bothersome feeling, tight and heavy and unpleasant in sickening ways…

  
They had nothing to wear.

  
Treavor, their wonderful baby brother, had forgotten to ask one of the hands to bring them a change of clothing that morning, not that they blamed him, Lydia’s letter was quite urgent after all, so they could forgive Treavor.

  
Worry was a strange thing for the twins, they had rarely, if ever, worried before they were so callously shipped off to their own mines to toil. But now…

  
Well, the simple waltz down the hall to their too dark bedroom seemed like an impossibly daunting task… Which irritated Custis endlessly.

  
They were home… They were safe… They were clean and safe and home and they should have no issues doning the nightwear Treavor had gotten them the eve before and walking to their bedroom…

  
But something… Something kept the twins rooted in place…

  
How silly their thoughts were… Yet how immobilizing.

  
For nearly ten minutes, the twins stood by the door of Treavor’s room, waiting for their other half to make the first move while daring themselves to act…

  
It wasn’t until gentle humming passed the door did Custis finally move. He cracked open the door gingerly to see a younger woman passing by, he did not recognize her, nor was she dressed in the typical hand uniform.

  
The elder twin was just about to close the door and wait for someone else when Morgan let out a short little, ‘hello’ of a whistle.

  
The woman stopped in her tracks and turned to face the sound, Custis was surprised to see something bitter twisting the young woman’s face before realizing that Morgan had just technically cat-called her to get her attention.

  
“Oh… Good morning Lord Pendleton’s.” She greeted upon seeing them proper, she did not curtsy, but at least the sour little sneer she was preparing melted away.

  
“Do you need something?” She asked calmly as she approached their door, Custis moved aside slowly to open the door wider while Morgan strode over to Treavor’s writing desk to retrieve a notepad and pen.

  
The younger twin returned with a somewhat messily scrawled, ‘Could we trouble you to fetch us a change of clothing?’

  
The woman read the short sentence and her face fell. “Yes, of course…” She replied softly, “Treavor informed us that… What you have been through…” She said.

  
“I do not know either of you personally, but Treavor cares for you both. I am not a formally trained servant, never was, technically still am not, but I’ll see what I can do to help.”

  
Neither twin knew exactly what to say to the young woman, so Morgan asked the only thing he could think of.

  
‘Name?’

  
The young woman smiled, “Callista Curnow, I believe you may know my uncle?”

  
The twins paused before Morgan snapped his fingers and let out some garbled drawl which had him quickly snapping his jaws shut in humiliation.

  
Something vile and wicked churned in their guts as they expected the young Curnow heiress to laugh at their expenses or mock them in some way for their newfound helplessness…

  
Instead, she smiled sadly and backed off a pace, “I’ll go see what I can find in the way of clothing for you two… Nothing too formal I hope, I was never one for high end fashion.”

  
The twins could only nod slowly, taking the lack of proper response as a dismissal, Callista turned back towards the opposite wing.

  
Exhaustion suddenly hit the twins… Their breath fell short and labored as they returned to sit at the end of their little brother’s bed, content to wait for one Miss Curnow to return.

  
Custis’ hand slipped comfortably into Morgan’s as his thoughts swirled in his head, his anxieties bubbled in his chest…

  
He had many questions… And Miss Curnow seemed like a reasonable, if incompetent young woman, who would be willing to answer at least a few of the questions plaguing the older brother…

  
Unfortunately, Callista never returned with their change of clothing.

  
Wallace, that ever loyal dog of a manservant their baby brother so adored, came, polity knocking, maybe half an hour after Treavor ran out, and ten minutes after Callista disappeared down the hall.

  
Wallace was as soft spoken and doting as the twins remembered, offering them each bundle of clothing from the dresser in their room and a pad of paper with a pencil because of course he could not understand then like Treavor could.

  
The manservant informed them of the day’s schedule, or at least, the typical schedule Treavor now followed.

  
“My Lord found it better he keep himself distracted with his work.” The manservant chimed in that ill fitted voice of his. Custis could feel vile poison clawing at the back of his throat, and if he could, he would have torn the lumbering olf to shreds for daring to speak so…

So… Casually about their baby brother.

  
“I’m quite sure you must have heard… But my Lord was in a very bad state after you’re… Removal.” Wallace continued.

  
“He nearly died the first night.”

  
Custis swallowed the poison thickly.

  
“Sometimes, he’ll slip, sometimes he’ll start down that path again… But he’s been doing very well these past few weeks.” Wallace said firmly as he looked to the twin noblemen before him.

  
“I have been made well aware of your relationship with my Lord.” The suddenly too tall man said, his voice remained soft, but there was something now dangerous about him.

  
“I do not… Understand… How, or why something so… Vile, was able to thrive.” Wallace admitted as he turned away sharply.

  
“But I recall my Lord was a right mess with you two… And an even worse wreck without.” The manservant crossed his arms over his chest, looking far less a faithful hand and far more some brooding guard dog.

  
“My Lord has finally made something out of his life, something good… And if either of you jeopardize what he’s managed to make of himself…” Wallace held his tongue bitterly as he debated his next words.

  
“I was there for my Lord every step of the way, helping him pick up every single piece I could…”

  
Weight, heavy, heavy, unbearable weight settled in Custis’ chest.

  
“I am not afraid of doing so again…”

  
Morgan made some hollow click at the back of his throat with what little of his tongue remained as he scribbled something down on the notepad Wallace had provided for them.

  
‘Would you kill us Mr. Higgins?’ The younger twin asked silently, Custis resisted the urge to grin at the older manservant, Wallace was always so gentle, so weak…

  
And in true fashion, the manservant sputtered in denial.

  
“Of course not!”

  
‘Of course not.’ Morgan jotted down feverishly, Custis could hear his twin’s sneer in his head.

  
‘Why?’ Morgan asked next, underlining the question twice for emphasis.

  
Wallace’s confused expression was tight with anxiety, and when no answer was immediately offered, Morgan smiled.

  
‘Because it would kill Treavor.’ The younger Lord supplied in the dimwitted manservant’s stead. Custis matched his twin’s venomous smile.

  
‘He came to you, didn’t he?’ Morgan queried on the paper. Wallace remained silent, eyes narrowed, Morgan tapped the pad of paper and cocked a daring brow.

  
“Yes…” Wallace hissed, his shoulders trembling as he spoke, “My Lord did come to me… The first night after your departure.” Heat began to gather at the manservant’s cheeks and Custis fought down a snarled bout of hissed laughter.

  
“My Lord was… Not well. He was making a mistake.”

  
‘He offered himself to you?’ Morgan guessed, Wallace froze stock still, neither twin needed his answer thereafter.

  
Morgan glanced to Custis, a smile in his eyes.

  
‘Did you fuck _our_ baby brother Mr. Higgins?’ Morgan mused, his voice sounded sweet and poutish in Custis’ head.

  
“N-No! Of course not!”

  
Morgan flipped the notepad back a page to tap the ‘of course not’ he had already written, somehow making the whole gesture look terrifically petty.

  
“I-I value my Lord’s decency too much to take advantage of him in such a state!” Wallace nearly hissed.

  
Morgan tapped his little ‘of course’ again before flipping to a new blank page.

  
‘Do you love _our_ baby brother Mr. Higgins?’ The younger twin then asked, his handwriting had degraded horribly from his time in the mines, but his words were clear, and cruel, enough.

  
The swallow Wallace choked down was audible even from across the room.

  
The twins grinned at the manservant, their eyes alight with mirth and jest of the worst kind.

  
“I-I was by his side through this whole ordeal…” Was Wallace’ stressed answer, “Every step of the way, whenever he needed me…”

  
Morgan tapped his question again.

  
‘Do you love _our_ baby brother Mr. Higgins?’

  
“What does that have to do with anything!” The manservant finally snapped.

  
‘Need we remind you Mr. Higgins. That, while you have proven yourself to be an invaluable member of staff working at this estate.’ Morgan began scrawling.

  
‘ _We_ were always _our_ dear baby brother’s endgame.’

  
The words were cutting and vicious.

  
“Damn you both…” Wallace seethed softly through clenched teeth.

  
Morgan hummed something soft as he flipped the notepad page back to tap his previous question.

  
‘Do you love _our_ baby brother Mr. Higgins?’

  
“More than anything…” Was the whispered answer.

  
Morgan merely nodded once, slow and solemn… Thoughtful as he scribbled some more words down on the page.

  
‘Thank you, Mr. Higgins. For looking after _our_ baby brother’

  
Thrilled possessiveness curled in the base of Custis’ belly. Treavor was, after all, _their’s, their’s, their’s, their’s_.

  
Wallace nodded slowly before retreating and Custis could have laughed.

  
There was a reason, and a damn good one at that, why the Pendleton twins despised Wallace Higgins.

  
During their youth, Treavor would always, always, always run to dear ol’ Wallace for absolutely everything. Sure, the man was Treavor’s personal caretaker…

  
But jealousy was a savage, burning thing.

  
Custis and Morgan were very jealous children.

  
Whenever Treavor ran to Wallace, they would burn a little bit more.

  
Were they not good enough for their dear baby brother?

  
Were they somehow less than that damn caretaker?

  
It took years of pulling strings and pushing buttons before finally, finally, Treavor stopped going to dear ol’ Wallace for everything. Sometimes he would run to the old manservant, but not as often.

  
But more often than not, Treavor would come to them.

  
And there was nothing more wonderful than watching Wallace Higgins begin to burn.

  
Custis leaned close to Morgan, guiding his twin into a slow victorious kiss, a kiss which Morgan gleefully grinned into as he allowed his twin to gently guide him back down to their baby brother’s bed.

  
Clothing and breakfast forgotten for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This worked well last time so...
> 
> Comment you cowards!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment you fucking coward.


End file.
